The Dark Mark's Prisoner
by Ephemeral Effervescence
Summary: Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, Draco finally escapes months of cruel punishment by Death Eaters. Will he get a chance to help the Golden Trio, or will he suffer a fate worse than death? Set after HBP.
1. Part I: Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Note**: This story is an AU, although it will have many parallels to DH. Anything that seems familiar is most likely created by Rowling and is not my property!

**Warnings**: Dark themes, violence, language

**Chapter 1**

They were actually trying to kill him.

The thought exploded through Draco's head as his eyes registered a flash of green to his left.

This was no longer a game. Those spineless sycophants were really attempting to kill him.

Heartbeat impossibly quickening, Draco changed his course. Instead of continuing on his straight path through a clearing, he veered right, running in zigzags and loops to avoid the curses. His destination was the maze. He should have the advantage there, considering how many of his childhood hours were spent wondering among the tall hedges. A series of green flashes from both his left and right forced Draco to frantically roll right, skip back, leap left, and sprint forward. There was nothing graceful about his movements. Gasping loudly, yelping when the green flashes flew by too close, eyes widening in fear, Draco fled. The stray thought that he must resemble a demented chicken floated through his panic-stricken mind and he promptly tripped over his left foot. The ground flew up to meet him.

Swearing, Draco forced himself up, ignoring the clumps of dirt that clung to his hands and the front of his robes. Disoriented and no longer caring if he was heading in the direction of the maze, he took off once again.

Draco was blind to his surroundings. Succumbing to the senseless panic, he focused on staying away from the pursuers. Gone were the strategic plans he created while rotting in his cell. Gone were the careful breathing patterns he forced himself to follow while running in order to ensure long-lasting endurance. Gone were thoughts of his future. All that remained was the animalistic drive to survive.

It was probably because of this that Draco didn't realize he was trapped before seeing a wall of flame rise high into the air just seven meters in front of him. Hot wind roared around him, whipping his fine white-blond hair so that the dank locks obscured his vision. Gasps that sounded almost like sobs racked his body and his head jerked left and right, desperately searching for a way to the other side of the fire.

Fear painfully clenched his heart as he realized the flames were encircling him. Twisting around, Draco could make out the robed figures trotting casually toward him, wands loose in their hands.

Draco stood, shaking uncontrollably, watching them come closer with dread. The game was over. Once again, he was the loser.

A bitterness crept uninvitingly across the back of his throat. That word defined him. Loser. Draco Malfoy was always the loser. A loser compared to Potter, the blood traitor, and the mudblood. A loser compared to these pathetic bastards who hide behind masks and willingly take orders from a madman.

His pursuers continued forward until they stood immediately before him. There were three of them. One was noticeably tall, towering over his companions, and thin. Another was of average height with a jutting middle. The last was the shortest but the widest, with thick broad shoulders. They all wore the black robes and white masks of a Death Eater.

Draco couldn't tell if he had met these particular Death Eaters before. After facing so many Death Eaters in the last couple of months, the shapes under the black robes all looked the same.

The tall one spoke, the white mask doing nothing to muffle the high raspy voice, "We expected more of a challenge from a Malfoy." His disgust was apparent. The emotions whirling inside Draco were still too strong to allow him to feel any anger toward his enemy.

"Try not to be too harsh, Quinn. The boy had no wand, after all," commented the wide one.

Quinn waved the words aside. "Filthy muggles have put up a greater fight than this one."

"You hear that, boy?" the wide one leaned forward to thrust his face in front of Draco. Draco flinched slightly. "You fall below even muggles. You do not deserve the name Malfoy, much less the Lord's mark on your arm."

Draco could do nothing but stand and stare at them. They had wands. He was unarmed. The uncomfortable heat from the flames warmed his back, causing his already filthy robes to cling to his frame with sweat.

The one with the jutting middle took a step forward. Draco's eyes jumped to his white mask, to the black slits where eyes should be.

"Quinn. Cox. Enough." A hand came up to cup Draco's chin. Draco couldn't help but flinch again as the cold fingers stroked his jugular vein. Droplets of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He barely noticed when the man began to talk. "What happened, my boy? I have heard such promising stories, stories in which you knocked a man out cold with your fists. Another story consisted of you commandeering a wand and using _imperio_ to force a man into strangling his partner. The third member still bears a scar from stopping you, a scar that you gave with a wand that did not belong to you." Draco's breathing quickened as the cold fingers increased pressure upon his skin. "Explain to me, Draco, why you simply ran from us without putting up a fight."

Abruptly, the hand released him. Fighting the urge to wilt in relief, Draco glanced at the other two men before returning his gaze to the one closest to him. He could not yet reply. His thoughts were finally just starting to become reorganized in his mind. Although his heart still fluttered faster than he believed possible, he was slowly regaining his calm state of mind that had kept him alive throughout his life. One unwise remark may bring the most unpleasant consequences.

Cox snorted. "Really, Davis. Why is an explanation necessary? It is obvious that those men were fools. They were the trash among the Dark Lord's followers, only fit for acting as bait for the pathetic Order."

Davis turned, about to answer, when the group suddenly noticed a figure running towards them. Draco resisted the panic that threatened to rise within him again. Why was there another Death Eater? He never had to face more than three.

The group stood waiting for the newcomer in silence. Now stable and in control, Draco's mind quickly ran through statistics. Usually, three Death Eaters meant at most fifteen minutes of punishment. Even the most able of wizards cannot hold a Cruciatus Curse for more than five minutes, excluding the Dark Lord. An extra Death Eater meant another five minutes. Although the prospect did seem unpleasant, Draco was sure he could handle a few more minutes under the curse. Of course, if these Death Eaters proved to be more creative than those in the past, there was the possibility that his punishment may last longer or even be more painful. Draco winced at the thought.

The arriver finally came among them, breathing heavily and muttering darkly about anti-apparating wards and oversized property becoming more of a hindrance than anything else. "You three," he gasped, bending over slightly with hands on knees, "You are to go to the Griffiths' Estates. There have been reports of Order activities there. The Dark Lord wishes those of us in the surrounding area to go and capture the enemies."

"The Griffiths' Estates?" Cox crossed his arms. "Why would the Order be interested in the Griffiths? They ran their ass outta this country months ago. Are they already aware of Malfoy Manor? They know we're here? Will they be attacking here soon? I thought someone made this place completely hidden."

Quinn laughed, a high piercing laugh that irritated Draco's eardrums. "Do not think, my dear Cox. It does not become you." He turned his thin frame towards Draco. "However, I'm afraid we have no time for you, boy."

"Ah yes, such a pity. The chance to punish a blood traitor does not come too often." Cox sighed theatrically. "When the Dark Lord deigns to give him his punishment, I doubt there would be anything left for us."

A tiny spark of hope, a concept completely alien in Draco's life in the past couple of months, warmed a part of his heart. They were leaving? They were leaving without torturing him? Taking in a deep breath, tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth, Draco waited. With the thrill of the chase and panic subsiding, he could now feel the familiar aches and pain rise throughout his body. Despite the warm wind emanating from the flames, his limbs commenced their constant trembling, a result from repeated sessions under the Cruciatus Curse.

Quinn's answering laugh was so high pitched that even Cox winced. "Do not worry, Cox. We can keep it quick." The man waved his wand casually directly in front of Draco's face.

Just when a wave of disappointment began to crash inside Draco, Davis shook his head. "Foolish idea. We must save our energy for capturing the enemies." Without waiting for Quinn's reply, he looked to the messenger. "How many of us will be there?"

The messenger gave a half-hearted shrug. "No more than twenty, I believe. The Dark Lord wishes at least ten Death Eaters to stay here."

"If that is the case, why must we go?" Quinn said. "Could we not be part of the ten that stays?"

The messenger straightened, facing Quinn with shoulders thrown back. "You dare question the Dark Lord's orders?"

Quinn raised both hands in the air, palms facing outward. "Of course not. We should leave immediately." Despite his circumstances, Draco still found it in himself to feel amused at how the Death Eater managed to sound both mocking and placating at the same time.

Davis snorted, then turned in the direction of the main gate. "Yes, immediately. If we are lucky, Cox, we may even capture a few blood traitors for your amusement." Without even a final glance at Draco, he began walking.

Cackling, Cox fell into step beside Davis. Quinn continued to face Draco for a few moments until he finally turned and followed the other Death Eaters. "Return him to his cell," he said over his shoulder.

Draco was left standing with the messenger. As the two stared after the three figures in silence, the wall of fire behind Draco dwindled steadily down until no traces of the spell remained. No charred grass. No ashes. The air cooled down to the customary summer heat of Wales.

After a while, Draco turned toward the messenger and realized that the Death Eater was facing him, not the other three, and had been for quite some time. Draco attempted to straighten from his slouch, to still his shaking arms and legs. Tilting his chin forward slightly, Draco stared back at the white mask. "What is it?" he drawled, his tone reminiscent of the one he constantly used at Hogwarts, "Are you assuming that the task of punishing me now falls upon your shoulders?"

Draco gritted his teeth but held onto his emotionless mask as the man chuckled. However, the man's reply made his eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. "Really, Draco. You are still as pompous as ever. I'm glad to see the last few months hasn't changed you one bit." Noticing Draco's surprise, he continued, "You don't recognize me?"

Suddenly, the lilting voice brought forth recognition in Draco's mind. The realization almost knocked him back a step. Schooling his face back into his mask, Draco muttered, "Nott."

"Got it in one, my friend," Theodore Nott replied, leaning in a slight bow. "I received the Mark the day after I became of age. Sadly, I haven't done much as of yet. Torturing prisoners in their cells get dry pretty quickly."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I take it that I will become one of those prisoners?"

Nott chuckled again and Draco had to resist curling his lips in anger. He had almost forgotten how annoying this Slytherin could be. Nott raised both hands to show he was unarmed. "Why would I save you from a torture session only to torture you myself?"

"Save me?" Draco couldn't help but sound incredulous.

"Did you really think the Dark Lord specified which Death Eaters he wanted to go capture the Order members? I heard you were out here with them, and I figured you might want a break." Nott reached up and removed the white mask. The thin familiar face peered at Draco with no attempt at masking his glee. Draco was rather taken aback at the other boy's expression, seeing as how he remained aloof and emotionless while in Hogwarts.

"I guess you're having the time of your life being in the Dark Lord's service?"

The Death Eater shrugged. "Like I said, I haven't really done anything." He took a step closer to Draco, his brow wrinkling slightly. "Was I wrong before, Draco, when I said you haven't changed? Normally you would be pelting me with your clever words, not even allowing me to get a word in. Instead, you haven't spoken more than ten sentences to me, some of which actually don't count as a complete sentence."

The words entered Draco's mind, but he could barely make sense of them. What game was Nott trying to play? No matter how carefully he analyzed each word, he couldn't figure out the Death Eater's intentions. He did not know enough quite yet. It was still too risky to take any action against his old classmate. Feeling a strange mixture of suspicion and hope, Draco waited to see what Nott would do next.

When Draco did not answer, Nott sighed. He jerked his head in the direction of the manor. "Let's get you back in your room." He waited until Draco began walking in front of him until he followed a few steps behind.

Out of the corner of his vision, Draco noticed Nott take out a thin brown rod from inside his robes and point it toward the middle of his back. "Don't worry," he said, noticing Draco's shoulders stiffen. "Just a precaution. It wouldn't do for the others to see us traipsing around like mates enjoying a walk, would it?"

The pair walked along in silence. Looking across the field, Draco was slightly surprised at how far he ran. The fear had taken complete hold of him, dominating his mind until nothing but panic remained. The silence stretched on and all the while, Draco was aware of each breath Nott took and the wand pointed at his back.

After a few minutes, Nott began to breathe a little heavier. "I hate this," he grumbled. "Bloody big field." Then, "Really Draco, at least make this endless trek interesting. Stop acting the silent bore and say something."

Despite his circumstances, Draco was amused at the words. Still, he said nothing. They walked on.

"During school, I've watched you." Nott suddenly began. Pausing, as if giving Draco a chance to comment, he gave a small nod. Only a small break in his steps indicated that the blond was startled by his words. "You acted as if you didn't know I existed. When we did cross paths, you treated me as your equal, because I am also pure-blooded. However, I was nothing to you." Draco kept his eyes on the walls of the manor coming gradually closer and listened, interested.

"But I noticed you. You interested me. Honestly, you fascinated me. I was in the dark, living life by myself, never part of the group that followed you around. Despite my isolation, I was drawn to you. You were so bright, Draco. I could not help but watch you. I was constantly in shadows, while you were in the spotlight."

Draco's eyebrows were rising further with each sentence Nott spoke. "It sounds as if you fancied me."

The Death Eater did not seem surprise at Draco's comment. "Not a first, no. At first, I admired you. I admired your charisma, your wit, your confidence. After a time, I did fall in love with you." His tone was matter-of-fact. After a short silence, he asked, "Does it bother you?"

Draco didn't reply. This bit of information did not bother him as much as bring forth a crucial question. Could he use this information to his advantage? Or more specifically, would he be able to use Nott to his advantage? A rush of possibilities swept through his mind and his heartbeat quickened slightly.

"I know you, Draco," Nott continued. "I know you're thinking of using me to help you escape. Please take that notion out of your head. I will not forfeit my life. Once my feelings for you are known, I will be killed."

Draco nodded, then asked, "How did you hide your feelings from the Dark Lord?"

"Passion." Nott began, his voice overly dramatic. "Love is a kind of passion. Hate also begets passion, albeit a different kind. However, it was simple to make one passion seem like the other. It was easy to make it seem as if I hated you. So easy, I bet even Potter's Weasley could've done it. It also helped when I showed our Lord many memories of you ignoring me at Hogwarts."

Once again, Draco nodded. After a few seconds, he had another question, "You think you know me?"

Nott smiled. "After six years of watching you, yes, I do think I know you." He lifted up one finger from the hand not holding onto the wand, which was still pointed at Draco. "The first thing about you is that you are a coward."

Immediately, Draco whirled around, anger rising quickly within him. It was an automatic response, one that he would've given while still in school. Glaring, he curled his lips, about to retort, a witty comment already poised on the tip of his tongue. However, the sight of the pointing wand abruptly took the anger out of him. Thoughts suddenly thrown in disarray, he froze, raising his eyes from the wand tip to the pale blue eyes of Nott's.

Nott chuckled. "See what I mean? So quick with words, yet when a physical threat comes along, you run away. You are quick to put the blame on others so that you can escape harm. When faced with danger, you drop your cool façade and run."

They stared at one another. The slight breeze ruffled their robes. The bright sun forced them to narrow their eyes.

"You like to feel superior. You have the ability to analyze those around you and use your knowledge to make them believe they are inferior to you," Nott continued. "You are spiteful. You hold grudges." His voice softened. "When you feel troubled, you cave into yourself. You turn away from those you made into your subordinates. When danger comes upon you, and you have nowhere to run, you face that danger on your own. You ask for no help. You don't expect any help. You rely solely on yourself." He gave a slight smile. "When you are knocked down, despite your fear, you get back up without hesitation. You persevere. You do everything it takes to get out alive. You never give up. You are a survivor." His smile widened, and he lowered his wand to his side so that the point faced the green grass. "However, that last bit is pretty questionable now. I mean, how could you not kill Dumbledore? Kill him, you survive. You didn't and so you will die." His tone had a mournful undertone, yet he was still smiling.

"Then help me escape," Draco blurted out. Nott's words were making him uneasy. He could not deny that any of his points were false. However, what did it mean for him to have this frail boy from school analyze him so successfully? There were not many who understood him. His parents were one of the few. The Dark Lord could also be another. How will Nott impact his future? Will he have an impact at all? Draco swallowed, although his mouth was dry, and waited for a response.

The pale blue eyes slid from Draco's gaze to rest upon his own left arm, where the Dark Mark was hidden by his black robes. "I can't. The Dark Lord does not wish for your freedom and so I cannot help you." He looked back up and gave a crooked smile. "Sorry."

Draco sighed, and turned around, suddenly aware of how weary he was. The blindingly white walls of the manor were harsh on his eyes.

The morning's activity of running for his life exhausted every drop of energy he had gained while resting on the cold stone ground of his prison. The memory of his cell ignited a small spark of anger inside of him. Draco Malfoy, a prisoner in his own home. It was absurd. There had to be a way for him to escape.

The lack of movement behind him told him that Nott had not raised his wand. Steadying himself, Draco moved his right foot forward, as if he were getting ready to start walking back to the manor. Immediately before his foot touched the ground, he swirled on the tip of his left foot, raising his right leg high.

His inner shin collided with Nott's left shoulder. The Death Eater let out a small grunt as he landed hard on his wand arm. Immediately, Draco dropped to the ground, knees pressed against each side of the other boy's waist, hands pinning both thin arms above his head. Nott's right hand still held the wand tightly. Pushing his face forward until only centimeters separated their faces, Draco grinned.

"I have to get out of here, Nott. Give me your wand."

Adrenaline was coursing though his already spent body. The thought of escape brought excitement, increasing the shaking of his hands. Draco gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on the bony wrists.

The Death Eater's face showed no surprise. His eyes darted everywhere, as if to find a way out of Draco's hold.

Draco snarled. "It's no use, Nott. Even living off of one meal per day, I am still bigger than you. Give me your wand." When there was no answer, Draco inched his left hand higher, toward the wand.

When the tip of his fingers grazed wood, Draco lunged forward, grabbing the wand and yanking it out of Nott's hand. He rolled on the dry grass and stopped on a knee. Without giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he whirled around, pointing the wand at the figure slowly picking himself up off the grass.

Triumph swelling throughout his body, Draco looked at the slight boy. So thin, he couldn't even fight off a starving prisoner. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and taunt at his prey like so many had done to him recently. Tightening his grip on the wand, Draco took a step forward. Stray parts of a plan whipped through his mind. "Nott, you'll help me escape."

The Death Eater did nothing but stood and stared back at him. Draco took another step. "You'll take me to my mother, release her, then let us leave."

Suddenly, Nott's face changed from an emotionless mask to a mask of sorrow. "Draco, for the last time, stop thinking that I will help you. I will not die for you."

"I may not have killed Dumbledore, Nott, but I'm not going to hesitate to kill you if you don't bring me to my mother." He sounded desperate, but he didn't care. He was so close.

Nott shook his head slowly. "Why do I have to keep repeating myself? I've watched you for six years. I _know_ you. I know you can't kill me. You can't kill anyone. Besides," he shrugged. "Even if you did completely change these last few months, and you do have it in you to kill me, you won't be able to."

"Why not?" Draco spat. His limbs were shaking badly now. He had to calm down; he was straining himself too much. However, despite his efforts to regain his calm, his mind was still in chaos with the possibilities of his future when he escaped.

A hand rose and gestured at the shaking wand pointed at him. "That's not my wand," Theodore said, smiling sadly. "Actually, that's not even a wand. It's a stick. A plain old non-magical stick from your ridiculously large field."

Draco widened his eyes. A stick? Horrified, he looked at the wand. What he was looking at was not a polished wand with intricate carvings. Instead, what he was holding was a thin, gnarled, insignificant stick. Disbelief, anger, and sorrow whirled inside him. How in the world did he mistake _this_ piece of garbage for a wand?

Foolish. He was foolish.

Nott placed his hand in a pocket and removed his real wand. He pointed it in Draco's direction. "There now. You have proof that I do indeed understand you. I knew you would attempt to overpower me, so I brought along a fake wand." His smile brightened. "Despite my physical weakness, I can be quite formidable. I'm clever, Draco. I might be cleverer than you. Why did you think the Dark Lord accepted me among his ranks?"

Draco stayed silent. Once again he was the loser. He was crushed, depressed, and there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to curl up in a corner of his cell and fall asleep. Today was too much. He was not strong enough to endure this roller coaster of emotion in the short span of a morning.

"I'm sorry," the Death Eater said, and he did sound sincere.

Draco nodded once, then set off toward the manor. Nott followed him, walking to the right of him instead of behind. The wand was angled toward his throat.

They walked in silence until there were only a few meters to a side entrance into the manor.

Draco held no anger toward the Death Eater walking beside him. Any anger left inside him was directed toward himself. It seemed like he could do nothing right. A weight settled itself more heavily upon his shoulders and he wilted. Every step was a chore.

Catching a look of concern on Nott's face, Draco attempted to straighten his shoulders and back. That concern reminded him uncomfortably of his mother.

They entered the manor still in silence. Throughout their trek, Draco ignored his surroundings. Seeing what the Dark Lord and his followers did to his childhood home was too hard to bear. They met no one as they made their way across the elegantly furnished sitting room, through dark hallways, down gilded staircases, and down plainer and dirtier staircases to his lonely cell.

As far as Draco knew, he was the only prisoner in this part of the manor. Any other prisoners were kept elsewhere, probably in the dank dungeon below the cellar. His cell was dry, moderately clean, and private. The perks of being the heir to the estate.

The sight of his dark solitary prison threw him further into depression. Despair threatened to push against his chest, smothering him. A dull ache pulsed gently at the back of his head.

Nott opened the door made of steel bars. He looked regretfully at Draco, waiting for him to enter.

Draco stood, just outside his cell. He didn't want to go in. A pressure began to build inside him. It grew steadily stronger, and Draco felt that if he didn't do _something_, he would explode.

"They cut off my tongue," he said abruptly, staring at the empty square room within. He was barely aware that he had spoken the words. Even when he heard the words coming out of his mouth, he no longer cared. He didn't care that he was speaking to a Death Eater willingly. He transferred his gaze to Nott's face. The Death Eater looked surprised.

"What?" he asked.

"In the beginning, when they started the tradition of chasing me around and cursing me, I never stopped talking. I ridiculed them. I laughed at them. I insulted their families. I wormed out their secrets and exposed them." His voice was monotone. "Three Death Eaters captured me, held me down, and cut off my tongue. I almost died gagging on my own blood. I was delirious from pain, so I did not think to spit the blood out. They stopped the bleeding, but did not restore my tongue. I lived without a tongue for a little over a month, and throughout that time, they served me all my favorite childhood food."

His old classmate blinked a few times, appearing awkward for the first time since their encounter.

"They took away my only two sources of defense, you see. My words, and my wand. For the first time, I was truly helpless." Draco's eyes slid to stare at the ground. "Those days were the darkest in my life. Not only could I not defend myself, but thoughts of my parents constantly haunted my dreams. What were they doing to my mother? When will the Dark Lord steal my father away from Azkaban to kill him? I didn't know anything, and I had no way to find out."

"How'd you get your tongue back?" Nott sounded curious.

Draco suppressed the urge to snort. "The Dark Lord found out that I was mutilated, killed the three wizards, then ordered Professor Snape to brew me a potion that gave me a tongue again." This time, he let out a small chuckle. "Reassuring, isn't it? If you ever find yourself with your tongue removed, there's a potion for that."

As interesting as the stone ground was, Draco decided to return his gaze to the Death Eater. Nott was still standing near the gate, shifting slightly from foot to foot, expression thoughtful. "The Dark Lord considers you as his property, and his property only," he commented.

Dull grey eyes slid to Nott's left forearm. "Aren't we all his property?" Draco gave a small smile to hide the faint shadows of fear that stirred within him. "We are all at his mercy."

"Ah!" Nott exclaimed, and Draco raised his eyebrows. To hear such a sound coming from this boy was quite odd. The Death Eater pointed a finger upwards. "Those three that I sent to the Griffith's, weren't they using the killing curse on you?"

Draco stared at the thin boy, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance upsetting his empty stomach. An image of him running, rolling, and diving in no apparent direction popped up in his mind, and he couldn't help but grimace. "Yes, but I doubt they were aiming at me. They were leading me toward their trap."

"You knew their plan? You knew…and fell for it?"

Draco wanted to spit in the other's face when he detected disappointment in the question. "You said it yourself. I am a coward." He looked into his cell and walked inside. "I guessed their plan afterward, while you talked with them."

For once, the air was cool down here in his personal prison. Although no windows allowed sunlight, sconces on each wall provided flickering candlelight. One might assume that a room lit with many candles would seem cheerful or romantic, but Draco's prison was the exact opposite. The flames created more shadows then light, and the unsteady glow produced writhing dark shapes upon the walls and floor.

Draco headed toward his usual far corner. When he arrived, he lowered himself gracefully, settling his back into the crevice created by the meeting of two perpendicular walls, stretching out his long legs before him, and leaning his head back until it was just as secured between the walls as his back. He forced his limbs to relax, to rest before another group of Death Eaters roused him for another game. It would be better if he stretched every part of his body, but this time, he was too tired.

He hadn't spoken so much in over two weeks, and speaking was quite exhausting.

Once his body felt sufficiently loose, he closed his eyes and worked on his mind. No more scheming for escape for now. That failure with Nott was enough frustration for the day. Instead, he attempted to clear his mind, recalling the methods his psychotic aunt taught him during his Occlumency lessons.

Seemingly from a long distance away, he heard the steel bar gate clang shut and the clink of the key in the lock.

"Draco."

The word was softly spoken, but Draco heard it. Without opening his eyes, he turned his head to face the gate.

After a short silence, the Death Eater spoke, "The Dark Lord will be back soon. Once he finishes his goals wherever he is, he will return here, and he will stay here until he is ready to kill Potter." Another short silence. "Ready yourself."

Draco opened his eyes. One glance around the small area outside his cell told him that Nott was gone. The undulating shadows could not hide a human, even a human as thin as Nott.

Reclosing his eyes, Draco conjured up Nott's face in his mind. The thin nose, thin lips, high cheeks, blunt chin, pale blue eyes, wispy sand-blond hair. So plain. So insignificant. A perfect face for blending into the background. How will this boy, who claimed to love him, affect his future?

Almost immediately, Nott's face was replaced with the death-white face of Lord Voldemort's. His eyes, sometimes a dull yellow, other times a dark red, were narrowed, staring. Lipless, his mouth moved, giving words that demanded the death of Dumbledore.

Draco sighed, forcing the image of the Dark Lord away with his breath.

He had to survive. Somehow, he had to survive. He could not die.

Draco sat still, surrounded by dancing shadows.

No matter what, he will survive.


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings**: Dark themes, language

**Chapter 2**

Nott was back again.

Currently, he rested his skinny frame against the steel bars that annoyingly blocked the way to the stairs. His white mask was absent but he wore the black robes with the hood off.

"It's really not a big deal. You only need them as a child. Once you start school, they become obsolete." Nott shrugged. "Actually, you don't even need them as a child. I turned out okay, after all."

Almost a week had passed since the fake-wand incident. Of course, Draco really couldn't tell for sure, as there were no clocks or windows in his prison, but judging from the six times he received meals and the six times he was escorted to the loo, he could accurately guess that six days and six nights had passed.

Nott tapped his fingers against the steel bars. The pings made a tinkling sound similar to the ringing of a bell. "Admit it, Draco. You're already used to your mother's absence."

Draco was sitting in his usual corner, in his usual position. The trembling was nearly nonexistent today. He could honestly say that he was quite comfortable. Even the warm air settling over the cell like a blanket didn't bother him. He was dressed only in a thin silken shirt, collar unbuttoned, and loose-fitting trousers, although the trousers weren't loose-fitting when he first bought them. His robes were folded neatly beside him.

At the moment, Draco was looking down, fingers playing with his cuffs. Numerous possible responses to Nott's comment floated stagnant in his mind, but he had no desire to open his mouth to say any of them.

The tinkling stopped and Draco heard a swishing sound. Raising his head, he watched as Nott slid down the steel bars to sit cross-legged on the stone floor. Resting his sandy-blond head against the bars, he turned one eye toward Draco.

Draco returned the gaze, a slight spark of interest setting his state of calm detachment awhirl. This was a new development. For the past six days, Nott had visited, said a few words, then left. The things he said were of little value. The words slid into his mind, stewed for a few minutes, then were forgotten. By sitting down, he indicated that he was in for an actual conversation.

Pursing his lips, Nott said, "Giving me the silent treatment won't help you escape. I've kept the big bad Death Eaters from making you play cat-and-mouse for the last six days, and all I get from you is a blank stare? I'm not going to cut off your tongue. Stay anything you like. I'll even let you insult me. Go on."

Nott had his full attention now. Shaking off the last remnants of his prison slump, he leaned forward to better see Nott's face in the shadows of the candlelight.

"I don't want your pity," Draco said. Despite his interest, his voice came out dull and emotionless. He needed longer to escape the fog his mind had been in.

"And you won't get any," Nott replied easily. "You're currently much better off than the other prisoners in the manor. You still even look healthy, albeit a little thinner and exhausted, but you've always been thin, so there's really no difference."

Draco barely paid attention to the words. "You've changed."

The eyebrow above the eye looking at Draco rose. "How so?"

"You talk too much."

Nott sniggered. "Following your logic, I can say _you've_ changed because you talk so little."

Draco wanted to deny it, because he knew he didn't change. In fact, he believed that he was acting more himself than ever. His close-lipped behavior wasn't a result of some inner change. Because he was a coward, because he feared the consequences, he never spoke unless spoken to, and sometimes not even then. Draco understood this. Left alone to contemplate for countless hours in the past few months gave him no one to analyze but himself. He did try to understand the Dark Lord at one point, and his reasons for starting this war, but thinking about that particular wizard for too long inspired in him a fear too suffocating to endure.

"Oh, stop _brooding_," Nott groaned. "I do hope you're aware that when you do that, your eyes go dull and you stare at nothing and it makes you look like an idiot."

The words slowly trickled into Draco's mind and when comprehension sunk in, he chuckled.

Nott slowly shook his head from side to side. "You really did change. If I said that to you at Hogwarts, I would've gotten a hex up my arse."

Draco brought his knees forward so that he could rest his arms and chin upon them. "If I have my wand, Nott, consider your arse hexed."

"Ah," Nott said. He shuffled on the ground until he completely faced Draco. "So, back to topic. Do you think about your mother at all?"

Draco sighed. "I told you already that I did."

Nott shook his head slightly. "Okay, but you never have the desire to see her, right?"

The question made Draco narrow his eyes. "Of course I do."

Nott pursed his lips. "How about, if I told you that you will never get the chance to see your mother again, you would be fine with that, because you're used to not seeing her."

Draco lifted his head up. "What happened to her?" he asked, the sick feeling of panic rising within his chest.

"Nothing. She's safe in the manor," Nott waved the question aside. "I'm just saying that you'll be fine without her."

"Why are we talking about this?" Draco asked.

Nott shrugged. "I'm just trying to convince you that it's wasteful to worry about your mother's life on top of your own. When you stole my stick, you wanted to save your mother, although you should've just tried to escape. I mean, I knew how much you looked forward to her letters at Hogwarts, and how excited you got to see her after a term ended, but sacrificing yourself for her is foolish."

"Sacrifice?" Draco was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Nott shrugged again and his eyes slid to the floor. "Just worry about yourself, is all. Don't worry about your mother." He suddenly looked back up to Draco with a smile. "You're a Slytherin, after all. We're supposed to care about ourselves more than anyone, remember?"

Draco stared intently at Nott, trying to read any messages in the other boy's eyes. He stopped trying when the shadows warped the Death Eater's face into something resembling an evil monster. After a moment, Draco asked, "How are they treating her these days?"

Nott was silent.

Alarmed, Draco furrowed his brow. "Nott? How is she?" The feeling of panic returned and he was dismayed to notice his hands continue their trembling.

"Why does it matter?" Nott answered shortly. Draco blinked. He sounded sullen, disappointed. His face was turned away, shoulders slumped.

Draco grew impatient. "It _does_ matter, Nott," Draco said, his tone cold. "We're talking about my _mother_." What was up with his old schoolmate? Nott was fast becoming a new addition to the short list of people he could not understand.

Draco waited for the Death Eater to explain himself, but no reply came. After a full minute of staring at the back of a sandy-blond head, his impatience disappeared, only to be replaced with a strong annoyance. "How is she?" he repeated.

Draco saw a thin shoulder rise up in a half-hearted shrug. "They're still treating her like a house elf. She's still cleaning. She's still cooking. She's still being ordered to do humiliating things. A couple days ago, she let a fire go out while a few Death Eaters were still in the room. They forced her to punish herself by beating herself with the poker."

Feeling quite sick, Draco closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his knees.

Suddenly, Nott's voice became more excited. "Her cooking has gotten better, but I try not to eat here if I can. A lot of the manor is closed off, since it's impossible for her to clean the entire place by herself. They call her the 'last house elf of Malfoy Manor,' I believe. Although, I can't see how that is accurate because your mother still wears clothes. For now."

The memory of his family's house elves being burned alive seared Draco's mind. He remembered how the elves writhed silently on the burnt grass, finally letting out moans when the pain became unbearable. From his mouth came the orders that they could not stop the fires, could not scream, could not even cry. They obeyed him. They had to, because they belonged to him. In his turn, Draco had obeyed the Dark Lord, because he belonged to _him_.

"Your mother's miserable, Draco. I wager she'd rather be dead than continue to serve us like a house elf." Nott's voice grew more intense. "Draco, your mother _wants_ to die."

Draco winced. Although he hadn't seen her for many days, he still couldn't imagine a life without her. She was the one constant in his life, a person who could never let him down. The people at school may annoy him, infuriate him, harm him, and his father may bring up feelings of dread, anxiety, and fear, but his mother had the ability to make him feel better even through a few sentences written hastily on a piece of parchment. He could not stand to hear her brought so low.

"Fuck off, Nott. That's not true," Draco murmured. The feeling of helplessness threatened to drown him. There was nothing he wanted more than to burst out his prison and destroy the bastards who dared to harm his mother. His desire to see them suffer and to have his mother be her free, beautiful self again burned brightly enough to drive back the suffocating helplessness.

He heard Nott sigh. "Draco, listen to me. Don't waste your energy to try and save her."

Draco didn't bother to answer. Although not even five minutes had passed since Nott visited, he was tired of the conversation. Actually, he wished he could forget it.

A few minutes of silence passed, during which Draco tried his best to bring back the fog in his mind. Only the fog could block out his worries.

"Our Lord will arrive tomorrow."

Those words dispelled the fog as successfully as if a tornado had swept across his mind. Draco jerked his head up, eyes widening in fear. The panic for his mother returned ten-fold, except this time, the panic was for himself.

Nott bit his lip. "I'm sure you'll be fine. He wouldn't keep you alive this long if he just wanted to kill you."

Draco was too overcome with worry to answer. The Dark Lord will come tomorrow. His long-awaited punishment will surely come with his arrival.

Nott stood up, his movements slow and reluctant. "I should go, but remember what I told you."

Draco wasn't listening. He didn't pay any attention to Nott as the Death Eater turned and disappeared through the archway that would bring him to the stairs. He was buried under his fear of what was to come next.

The pain. The suffering. The humiliation.

Draco could easily imagine the Dark Lord's punishment being multiple times worse than the Cruciatus sessions led by his Death Eaters. The image of his face loomed terrifyingly in Draco's mind, and the accompanying feeling of nausea made him slump back, weak.

The memory of those eyes turning blood red, staring intently through Draco's eyes, arose uninvited in his mind. He remembered the pressure inside his head growing agonizingly strong, but he never allowed his shields to fall. Even as the pressure grew sharp, excruciatingly painful, he denied the Dark Lord access into his mind. His mind was the only thing left to him. The people he cared for, any power he had, were taken from him, but his thoughts and memories were his own. Although the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse was strong and long-lasting, Draco never regretted his defiance. His mind was his own.

Draco shook his head as if that could dispel all his frightening thoughts. He had a feeling that trying to come up with a plan of escape would only bring him back to his terrifying memories of the Dark Lord. For the briefest of seconds, Draco felt a stirring of disgust toward himself. _Why are you so weak?_ The question came abruptly to mind, but Draco didn't want to admit he was weak, much less answer the question.

Stifling down a strong feeling of dread, Draco recalled his lessons on Occlumency and brought back the numbing fog. It was easier this way. And besides, he was too tired to think.

O_O

The screeching slide of the small lift built into the center of the steel bar gate brought Draco out of his self-induced fog. His noontime meal was here, and he was hungry. But then again, he was always hungry. Despite eating only one meal each day for over two months, his stomach adamantly refused to become used to the new food schedule.

Draco's eyes were glued to the small opening and subsequently to the plate entering through it. A generous slice of meat pie sat upon the plate. Although the crust appeared to be slightly burnt, Draco looked forward to eating it.

He got up from his position without too much difficulty, and walked the few steps to the gate. Holding out a hand to receive the plate, he raised his eyes to meet the deliverer.

It was lucky he didn't yet grab the plate, else he would've dropped it and wasted his one meal quota of the day.

For the first time since he was dumped as a prisoner in his own home, Draco looked into the inky black eyes of Severus Snape.

"Professor Snape!" Draco exclaimed, shock clearly evident in his voice. A sudden onslaught of too many different emotions almost had Draco falling and landing on his bottom. Draco stared at the familiar face, at a loss for words.

His former professor's face was unreadable like always. No emotions showed from his pale, gaunt features, and his lips were still stuck in their forever pursed state, as if everything in the world never could be up to his standards. Draco's parents usually shared the same expression.

Suddenly, the eyebrows on the gaunt face rose. "Not hungry, Draco?" The voice was familiar too: monotone, uninterested, resonant.

The question triggered something in Draco, and he blurted out, "Where have you been?" He winced inwardly at the slight reproach in his tone. From Professor Snape's blink, Draco knew his godfather noticed. Biting his lips to keep from saying anything more embarrassing, Draco quickly reached forward and took the plate of food.

A couple of minutes passed as Draco stared determinedly at the meat pie, waiting for an answer. He could feel Severus's gaze on him and it made it even more difficult to suppress the emotions bubbling unpleasantly inside him. He no longer thought the meat pie looked appetizing. His stomach was too upset to accept food. Instead, he wanted to throw the plate towards the distant man and yell at him for leaving him to suffer the Cruciatus Curse for days on end.

Finally, his godfather spoke, "I've been following orders. There were also some matters to settle concerning Hogwarts and keeping this manor hidden."

The mention of Hogwarts brought yet another unpleasant jolt. Death Eaters certainly did not belong there. Suddenly, holding the plate of food became too risky as Draco fought down the feeling of nausea. He bent down on wobbly legs and set the plate on the stone floor. When he straightened, he raised his eyes to look at his godfather's face. Emotions that he kept buried during the two months burst out of his inner-shields. Worry, regret, and self-disgust caused him to crinkle his brow. "I didn't know they would let the werewolves in," he whispered.

"What's done is done," Severus replied shortly. His eyes wandered over Draco's face and Draco wondered what he thought of him right now. Did he think him a coward? A weakling? Someone who did not deserve the Malfoy family name? "I will be leaving soon to prepare for my headmaster position at Hogwarts."

Yet again, a jolt went through him. "Headmaster? I thought…I thought…" Draco trailed off as the image of Severus's killing curse hitting the weakened headmaster replayed itself in his mind. The memory of the horror he'd felt during that time left his mouth dryer than usual.

"The Dark Lord will see you in a few hours," Severus continued. "I will be gone by then."

Although the words should've made him throw up in fear, Draco could only feel a cold numbness washing over him. "A few hours? But…b-but I heard tomorrow." The words came out as a whisper.

"Our Lord has business tomorrow. He will see you today," Severus repeated. After a pause, he said, "I trust you to keep yourself alive."

Draco wanted to snort, wallow in self-pity, and cry, but he chose to let out a long sigh instead. He clasped his hands together in a tight grip to reduce their trembling. "Will that even be possible?" he asked bitterly.

"You failed to fulfill your orders and kill Dumbledore. You failed to get yourself out of this prison, even though you had ample time without the supervision of the Dark Lord. If you fail to survive today, you will be the sorriest excuse of a pureblood ever to exist."

The words were like a punch to the gut. Draco curled his lips but bit back a retort. His godfather's words were true.

"There has been a change to the manor wards. Can you feel it?"

Surprised, Draco wrinkled his brow to concentrate. If he focused hard enough, he could make out the intricate spell work that formed the wards of Malfoy Manor. He sensed the usual wards for fire protection, anti-apparation, and other various protection spells that he never bothered to research. Although he could not detect anything specific, he could feel something was off. "The wards feel more…strict," Draco answered.

Severus gave a curt nod. "If you happen to find yourself at your manor's boundary, make sure to stick out your left arm in front of you before taking another step. Instead of merely preventing burglars into the grounds, the wards now prevent anyone without the Dark Mark from entering. Those who fail to present the Mark will burst into flames. Prisoners must be in physical contact with a Death Eater to be allowed through the wards." His godfather's emotionless face suddenly grew more grim.

"Do you understand me, Draco? I don't care if you never again understand another one of my potions lessons, but I do want you to understand that you need to stay alive, no matter what the Dark Lord forces you to endure."

Before Draco could react, his godfather abruptly turned and disappeared through the archway. Although Draco strained his ears, he could not hear his footsteps going up the stairs.

Why did Severus want him to survive so badly? Never in his life had his godfather even looked at him fondly, much less begged him to stay alive.

The Dark Lord will come for him in a few hours. He needed to stop thinking about his godfather and think up a plan. Draco never could understand the man anyways. He did agree with Severus, though. He needed to survive whatever the Dark Lord threw at him.

He returned to his corner to ready himself for the ordeal. He needed to spend the remaining time he had left to strengthen the shields in his mind and brace his body for pain.

The plate of food lay forgotten on the stone floor.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings**: Graphic/grisly violence, dark themes, language

**Chapter 3**

Draco was still straining to reinforce his shields when two burly Death Eaters grabbed his arms and pulled him out of his prison three hours later. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut to hold the fear at bay and concentrated almost desperately in gathering more fog. He had a feeling that the only way he would remain sane at the end of the day was to keep his mind unattached from his surroundings. Vaguely aware of putting one foot in front of the other as he walked pressed between his two companions, Draco breathed steadily, calmly.

When he deemed he was ready, Draco allowed his vision to focus. He first gazed at the Death Eater gripping firmly to his left arm. Then, he glanced to his right at the other Death Eater. Both were male, built broad, and probably as smart as Crabbe and Goyle. Draco didn't bother squirming in their hold. If he annoyed them enough, he had no doubt that they could break his arms with only a twitch of their meaty hands.

Instead, he paid attention to where they were headed. Because they were going toward the east wing of the manor, Draco guessed that their destination was the kitchen. Underneath the kitchen was the cellar, and underneath the cellar were the dungeons. Were they taking him to the dungeons?

Pondering about the near future only stressed him, so Draco abruptly stopped thinking about his predicament. He forced himself to concentrate on observing what was once his home. The corridors were darker than he remembered, but still moderately clean. When the Dark Lord eradicated every house elf loyal to the Malfoys, Draco remembered thinking that the manor will soon cease to look beautiful and elegant and instead resemble a gloomy haunted house.

When he could not find any clumps of dust bunnies, Draco imagined his mother roaming the manor with a duster and broom. The image saddened him, and subconsciously, he began to search for her. Would they finally meet face-to-face? It would be nice to see her at least one last time in case he…

Draco shook his head, dispelling his thoughts. Even thinking of his mother was dangerous territory. He must keep the fog around no matter what. Only the fog could quell both his fear of the Dark Lord and his self-disgust at marching toward torture without a fight, much like an ignorant pig brought to slaughter.

Despite his efforts in the last few hours, his heartbeat still fluttered when they came upon the door to the kitchen. His stomach flopped queasily and he suddenly felt grateful that he had not eaten that meat pie, although he did wish his godfather had given him some water. His throat was dry, making it an effort to swallow.

The left brute entered wordlessly through the door first, followed by Draco, then the other brute. Never once did they loosen their grip on him. Their silence only served to make Draco feel even more uneasy.

The kitchen was deserted. Gleaming pots and pans swung slightly from the low ceiling, clean utensils were all in their proper places, and the stove and countertops were wiped clean. Draco gave an experimental sniff. There was no aroma, not even a tiny indication that a meat pie was cooked here only a few hours ago. More importantly, he couldn't detect any whiff of his mother's perfume. Even if she left a room more than five hours ago, her scent usually lingered.

They made their way to the very back of the kitchen, where the light emanating from the crackling fireplace could not reach. Here was the wooden door to the cellar.

Once again, the brute to his left led the way, opening the door on creaky hinges and pulling Draco after him. The other Death Eater shut the door behind them.

For the first time in Draco's life, the cellar was empty of the usual crates, barrels, and shelves of ancient wine. Numerous glowing spheres across the ceiling emitted a white light that illuminated the entire room. The Malfoy Manor cellar was quite large, with half a dozen wooden pillars spaced equally throughout the area. No dust, no cobwebs, no trace of dirt could be seen. Instead, a small crowd of Death Eaters stood still, like a flock of crows awaiting the right moment to attack unsuspecting picnickers for their food.

Draco was scared. All of his efforts to remain in control of his emotions were a waste. No amount of fog could prevent his heartbeat from quickening or nausea from rising or his limbs to increase their manic trembling. The horrible white masks seemed to multiply before his eyes, floating in a sea of darkness, staring at him, judging him, condemning him. It was as if he were at the threshold of death, come to hear his sentence, whether it is paradise in heaven or an eternity of suffering in hell, and these terrifying beings acted as a biased jury.

His two escorts roughly pushed him, forcing Draco to continue forward. Draco obeyed, struggling to place each foot in front of him as if he were wading in a pool of the thickest mud. Only the support from the firm grip on each of his arms kept him from collapsing onto the rough stone floor. He pushed his lips tightly together to prevent a whimper from escaping.

All around him, the Death Eaters jeered, hissed, and laughed. They taunted him, urging him to fight back. Throw a punch. Knock someone out like a filthy muggle. Cry, beg for his mum.

Draco was led to the center of the cellar, where there was a circle of space cleared of Death Eaters. Curiously, this small space appeared to be more brightly lit then the rest of the room.

Standing in the center of the cleared space, dressed in long robes of midnight black, stood the most fearsome wizard Draco had ever encountered. Blood-red eyes stared almost hungrily at Draco as he waited for the trio to come to him. Draco suppressed a shudder as the monster's lipless mouth curled into a smile. "Draco Malfoy," he said, lifting out a thin, long-fingered hand toward Draco. "Welcome." His voice made every muscle in Draco's body tense. Raspy, smooth, cold. With this voice, the Dark Lord had been able to force even the bravest of men to his knees in fearful submission.

His escorts brought him just an arm-length before the Dark Lord. The death cold hand grasped Draco's shoulder and it took all of his efforts not to jerk away. He could feel the cold touch right through his silk shirt.

"It has been quite awhile since I've last seen you, hasn't it Draco?" the Dark Lord said. He leaned forward slightly as if he and Draco shared a private conversation. Even his breaths felt cold, as if he weren't even alive. "Although we haven't seen each other in so long, I have thought of you many times." The grip on his shoulders tightened painfully, causing Draco to flinch. The hunger in the blood-red eyes increased. A pressure began to throb inside Draco's head.

He wanted to close his eyes or look away; however, his gaze remained glued to the Dark Lord's eyes. Draco gritted his teeth, forcing his inner shields to stay in place. Despite his consuming fear, he had been practicing Occlumency constantly, and it was now almost second-nature to him.

Surprisingly, the pressure disappeared almost instantly. The grip on his shoulder relaxed. The Dark Lord took a step backward to create more room between him and Draco. "You're a powerful wizard, Draco, and from the purest of families. It would be a grievous waste to ignore such promise. Although I gave you the mission as a punishment for your worthless father, I was also curious about your talents." The lipless mouth once again curved into a smile.

Draco could not stop staring at the object of all his nightmares, even though he would like nothing more than to close his eyes and allow the fog to consume everything. What little fog there was left in his mind was only good for stifling the screams threatening to burst from him.

When the Dark Lord began to stroll leisurely to the left, moving out of Draco's line of vision, Draco attempted to turn his head to follow him; however, the Dark Lord's cold fingers suddenly wrapped around the back of his neck, successfully freezing him. He was left to stare forward, where the crowd of Death Eaters had moved aside to leave a cleared pathway to a door made entirely of thick steel.

"You know where that leads to, don't you Draco?" The words, uttered so close to the back of his right ear, almost made Draco yelp. The hand around his neck disappeared but the cold breath still breezed against his ear. "You must've arrived thinking that in a few moments, you will die. But I am a generous man, my boy, and I am willing to give you a second chance." The last word was drawn out in a hiss, and Draco couldn't help but shudder.

Draco knew the steel door led to the underground dungeons. He had no clue what the Dark Lord was planning. Deep under the heavy fear rose a spark of morbid curiosity.

"You see, Draco, I am confident that you will make a valuable addition to my army. I am also confident that I can force you to do my bidding. But first, we simply have to get over your unreasonable fear of killing, now, won't we?" The sense of menace in the tone sent all the warning bells in Draco's system clanging out of control. He wanted desperately to struggle his way out of the two brutes' iron grips and run the hell away from the monster.

"Draco, I have a gift for you." A pale, thin hand reached over Draco's shoulder, back into his line of vision. Held between bony fingers was a small phial of a dark emerald liquid. "Drink this for me, Draco." The arm curved around Draco's neck until the phial touched his lips. When Draco only tightened his lips, the Dark Lord said, "I have no qualms about putting you under the Imperius Curse, Draco, but I would appreciate it if you would save me the energy."

With a sharp feeling of self-disgust, Draco opened his mouth to allow the contents in the phial to slip down his throat. The potion was tasteless, like water.

Almost immediately, Draco felt the effects of the potion. His vision suddenly became almost painfully sharper. The tiniest of cracks in the stone wall and floor were as noticeable as a giant rift between mountains. Every inch of his skin became overly sensitive, so much so that he could feel each individual finger of the two brutes and sense the shapes of their palms. The Dark Lord's breath became harsh upon his skin, as if a rough wind had hit him instead. There was a sudden onslaught of smell that made Draco wrinkle his nose. Sweat, dirt, shampoo, soap, and the unique smell of each Death Eater assaulted his nose. Finally, his ears twitched as sounds he did not detect before became heard, as if everything that could produce a sound was amplified through a megaphone.

"An interesting potion, isn't it?" the Dark Lord whispered, but to Draco, it sounded as if he had shouted straight into his ear. "This potion increases the performance of each of your five senses up to almost five-hundred percent. Do you know what this means, Draco? Do you know that with that much of an increase in awareness, even the smallest of cuts feel like an amputation? The lightest of a pinch feels like the bite of a vicious animal? My favorite part though, Draco, is not the fact that you would be unable to fall unconscious while the potion is still in effect, but that throughout the pain, you would be aware of everything around you. Despite feeling the pain, you can still make rational decisions. And this, my dear Draco, is your punishment and my gift to you."

To say Draco was overwhelmed was an understatement. The overload of information bombarding his senses threatened to unhinge his mind. Praying mentally to whatever higher being they may be out there, Draco struggled to gather the soothing fog. Little by little, he removed himself from his surroundings until finally, he reached a tolerant point. Although everything still appeared overly intense, Draco no longer felt the pressure of going insane.

Draco heard the Dark Lord's footsteps as he returned to stand before him. Looking at the wizard through his potion-affected eyes made the Dark Lord appear more frightening than ever. Draco's blood ran cold when he saw that the Dark Lord now held a shining blade that was about half a meter long in his right hand. The edge of the blade was noticeably sharp, thinner than a piece of parchment. The Dark Lord raised the blade slowly until the tip rested lightly against Draco's stomach.

"Allow me to explain to you how the next few minutes will play out." The tip of the blade rose until it was only a finger-length away from Draco's eyes. "You will prove to me that you will follow my every order, no matter how you feel about it, because Draco, once you accept my Mark, you are mine. You body, your power, your feelings, and your thoughts are all mine. However, judging from your unwillingness to allow me into your head, you do not yet understand this." The Dark Lord jerked his head slightly toward the steel door behind him. "In that door are useless muggles, mudbloods, and blood traitors. I want your help in removing a few of them."

He lowered the blade and gave Draco another one of his blood-curdling smiles. "Bring out the first one," he said over his shoulder. Then, he returned leisurely to his position behind Draco. Despite the Dark Lord's fearsome appearance, Draco would rather he stayed where he could see him. With him hovering behind Draco with the sword, Draco wished to turn around and face him so that he could see what was coming at him. As if they sensed his thoughts, the two brutes tightened their hold on his arms. With his heightened senses, their grips felt like his arms were slowly being squished by thick iron pincers.

The screeching of the steel door got Draco's attention. From within the dim dungeons came a thin elderly man, his body forever bent with his age. A wispy beard adorned his jutting chin, bushy eyebrows partially covered his squinting eyes, and a bald scalp spotted with dark freckles gleamed in the white light. He wore a shaggy robe with clearly nothing else underneath. Shuffling forward, his eyes darted frantically from Death Eater to Death Eater and finally rested upon Draco pressed between the two huge brutes.

Theodore Nott appeared behind the old man, the only Death Eater without the white mask. He grinned maliciously at Draco over the old man's bony shoulder. He pushed the prisoner roughly forward with the tip of his wand until they stood only two meters away.

Draco's nose twitched in complaint the moment the door opened and the prisoner entered. The smell of human waste, body odor, and vomit permeated so strongly from the old man that Draco's eyes watered from the stink.

Something bumped against Draco's left hand. Looking down, Draco saw the Dark Lord's hand push a wand onto his palm. His wand. For the first time since he arrived back home, he held his wand. The familiar texture and weight in his hold felt like bliss. For a moment, he contemplated whether he could overpower everyone in the room and escape.

Of course, he dropped that thought as soon as it appeared. Besides, the left brute held his arm too firmly for him to be able to lift up his arm and aim at anything.

A cold whisper into his right ear made Draco tense his shoulders. "Kill him, Draco."

Suddenly, his left arm was released, but Draco barely noticed. His eyes widened and the fog inside his mind stirred restlessly. Immediately, he thought back to the moment on the tower, where he faced Dumbledore. He had been so scared, desperately trying to think up a way out of his situation.

"You know the incantation, Draco. Simply two words. I order you to kill this filthy mudblood." The Dark Lord's words slithered into Draco's mind. Instead of motivating him to act, however, the words only succeeded in freezing him. His body was locked in his current position, while his eyes stared into the fearful blue eyes of the stranger before him. Wrinkles at the corner of those eyes indicated a lifetime full of laughter.

Draco's heart skipped a beat as the image of his former headmaster replaced the old man. Stooped, weakened by unknown forces, Dumbledore gazed at him as if he understood, as if he desired to help him. He even offered his family protection.

"I will allow you five seconds, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed, tone dangerously low.

Draco had to kill him. This was his second chance. No one before had held this opportunity. He had a chance to fix his mistakes.

"Five."

Draco tried to gather the determination and malice required for a successful casting of the killing curse.

"Four."

Unfortunately, his efforts required him to sacrifice quite a bit of that soothing fog, and his hesitation wiped all his determination away. He stood frozen. Not even a pinkie twitched.

"Three."

Panic bloomed from deep within his gut, surging quickly throughout his body. His body still did not want to move. Never before had Draco felt a greater need to throw up.

"Two."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to even mouth the killing curse's incantation in front of this old man who probably didn't have many weeks remaining.

"One."

A sudden burning pressure through his middle put a stop to all his thoughts. A fraction of a second later, his body registered the fiercest pain he had ever endured in his life. It felt as if ravenous beasts were gnawing mercilessly through his stomach.

Draco's eyes had rolled to the back of his head when he felt the horrible pain, though he did not fall unconscious. When his eyes settled back into their proper positions, he looked down to see the source of the pain.

Sticking out of his stomach, ripping through his shirt, was the Dark Lord's blade. The tip was covered in his blood, yet it still gleamed.

The pain was unbearable. Draco wanted to scream, yet nothing came out of his mouth except shallow gasps. His legs no longer bore his weight. Instead, the two brutes held him upright to prevent him from falling and running himself through with the blade.

"Draco, can you hear me?" the Dark Lord asked.

Draco heard him, although the pain prevented him from answering.

"Let me know if you can hear me, Draco." There was a warning note in the tone.

Summoning strength from places unknown, Draco forced his throat to work and his lips to move. Hearing his mouth produce an incomprehensible sound, Draco tried again. He shook violently with the effort. "Yes," he barely managed.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord hissed. "Tell me, Draco, how many Death Eaters are there in this room?"

Draco struggled to calm his mind. _Where's that blasted fog?_

His overly sensitive skin felt the blade give a slight twitch, as if it would twist inside him. Frantically, Draco sniffed and strained his ears. White mask after white mask blurred with the saccades of his eyes. Keeping track of each individual intake of breath, smelling each unique scent, Draco counted. "Thirty-seven," he rasped.

The blade abruptly twisted, forcing Draco to let out a groan.

"Thirty-seven? That's odd, Draco. I counted thirty-eight. Do you no longer count yourself as my loyal Death Eater?" The tone was colder than ever.

Somehow, Draco still had enough control over his inner mind to curse himself. This was not the time to act stupid. "Thirty-eight," he said quickly. _Oh, the pain_.

He heard the Dark Lord chuckle. Then, he said, "Nott, show Draco what I wanted him to do. Perhaps the boy needed a demonstration beforehand."

Draco's eyes immediately swiveled to land on Nott. His old schoolmate appeared bored, standing with his weight on one leg. Almost lazily, he aimed his wand at the old man's back. Before Draco could even widen his eyes, he heard Nott murmur, "Avada Kedavra."

The spell flashed green, and then the prisoner fell face-forward, his expression not even slightly changed.

Draco stared dumbly at the dead body.

However, the pain searing inside him didn't allow him to be concerned about what he had just witnessed. He felt his blood trickling down the sword wound, dampening the waistline of his trousers.

"Draco, I will give you another chance," the Dark Lord hissed into his ear. "But be warned that for every time you disobey me, the blade goes closer to your heart. This sword was created with old magic and will easily slice through your muscles and bones. Do not worry, I will be sure to avoid any other vital organs. Ready, Draco?" Without waiting for Draco to answer, he called out, "The next one."

No one made a move to retrieve the old man's body. Draco couldn't help but stare at the unmoving figure, trying his best to ignore the searing pain. He found himself wishing for the Cruciatus Curse instead of this. The potion made the pain too sharp, too fierce.

When the second prisoner was brought up by Nott, Draco actually believed that the pain had succeeded in splintering his mind to insanity.

The tall, gangly body was slumped in either pain or exhaustion. Hands curled in tight fists. Limp, red hair hung forward, covering up half his face. However, Draco could still make out the pale brown freckles through the filthy locks. With his enhanced vision, he noticed plenty of bruises on lightly-muscled arms, and even around the neck. Dry lips were cracked and bleeding.

It was Ron Weasley, that dirt-poor Gryffindor idiot who appointed himself as Potter's useless sidekick.

The weasel appeared to be just as surprised as Draco. His hand flew to his face to sweep away the hair to reveal widened incredulous blue eyes.

The potion kept Draco aware enough during the pain for him to be able to tell that the redhead was not well. Dark circles stood out under bloodshot eyes. His skin was paler than usual. Even those abominable freckles seemed paler.

"I have no more use for this blood traitor, Draco. Kill him for me. Once again, I will allow you five seconds."

Draco could do nothing but stare once again. His days at Hogwarts seemed lifetimes ago. To see such an unexpected figure from that long-ago past suddenly brought up feelings of such a deep sadness that it slightly dulled the agony. How he wished he could be back in that time, in a moment when he didn't have to fear for his and his family's lives. He had enjoyed his childish bouts with Weasley. Oddly, it felt even harder to lift his wand against such a familiar face, although he had no qualms about it before.

His nostalgia was brutally cut short. Draco felt the sword viciously rip upwards through his body. For the first time in all of his torture sessions, he let out an agonized scream. He had felt his muscles tear apart and his ribs sliced as if they were butter.

"Really, Draco. Judging from the blood traitor's memories, the two of you despised each other. You are trying my patience, my boy." Indeed, the Dark Lord sounded angry. Draco could hear his icy voice through his own screams, thanks to that blasted potion.

Draco forced himself to stop screaming once the initial shock wore off. He gasped more heavily than before. He felt light-headed from the blood loss. He hung his head and closed his eyes when his vision blurred.

"Bring in the next one!" the Dark Lord shouted. He sounded impatient, annoyed. He thrust his face closer to Draco's ear. "Kill for me, Draco," he hissed.

Draco struggled to lift up his head. Opening his eyes, he first noticed that the weasel was still alive. Was the Dark Lord that keen on getting him to kill someone that he would forget about that ginger? He transferred his gaze sluggishly from the weasel to what appeared to be a young girl who couldn't be more than five years old. Her face was tiny, emphasizing her large green eyes. The girl looked horrified as she stared transfixed at the blade poking out of him.

"She's a useless muggle, Draco. A sister of a mudblood. Kill her, and you would be doing the world a favor."

Draco gripped his wand tighter. The blade was so close to his heart. Why should he sacrifice himself for these people? They meant nothing to him. He had to get over his irrational hesitation and _do_ it!

His throat convulsed as he tried to swallow. The left brute supported him by gripping onto his upper arm and shoulder, leaving him free to lift up his wand and take aim. He did it slowly, and noticed when the little girl's gaze shifted from his wound to his wand. He heard Weasley draw in a quick breath.

The incantation sat on the tip of his tongue. He _had_ to do this. He couldn't die right now, not when he still needed to rescue his mother and father.

His lips mouthed the words, but no sound came out. He grinded his teeth, then tried again. Still, nothing came out. His arm was weak and shaking violently. His wand felt heavier than anything he had ever carried in his life. Holding it was too much of an effort, and groaning, Draco allowed his arm to drop back to his side.

The Dark Lord's reaction was quick. The blade tore further up his torso, stopping just before the aorta. Draco could _sense_ that small distance and knew he was close to death.

It was suddenly too difficult to breathe, and he felt his breaths involuntarily slow down. His vision became blurrier. The smells that were previously so strong dulled to nothing. His ears felt clogged and every sound he registered seemed muffled. This rapid change scared Draco. _Am I dying?_

Draco did not want to die. Giving up his life went against every fiber of his being. His godfather's voice sounded in his head. _I trust you to keep yourself alive._

However, the tip of the blade teased him, worried him, as it was just a few millimeters from snipping that vital aorta artery. The excruciating agony surging across his entire body did not help him foster any determination either. Draco knew he was panicking during a crucial moment, but he could not help it. He was too close to death, and he did not want to die.

"Last chance, Draco. I do wish it has not come to this." The Dark Lord's voice sounded distant in Draco's head. Draco tried to convert the growing flame of panic into something more helpful. Instead, he became aware of a terrifying obsidian fog rolling across his mind like thunderheads. This fog did not appear to be his usual inner shield that protected him from unwanted thoughts and feelings. This fog was something else. It felt menacing, dark, and deadly. He was falling unconscious. After only a few minutes, the potion was wearing off. Somehow, Draco understood that if he passed out, the chances of him waking again were slim. He had lost too much blood in the last few minutes.

Blearily, Draco raised his head. His terror-stricken mind struggled to keep the menacing fog at bay. The pain felt insignificant in contrast to his growing panic. He _must_ get this right. He _must _stay alive. He knew he was a powerful wizard, capable of enduring anything. He would get through this torture session wounded but alive. He shakily raised his wand, desperately convincing himself that he could do this.

The sight of the new prisoner kneeling on the stone floor had Draco abruptly choking on air. For one time too many, his resolve flew out the window. Time seemed to slow down as he stared into those familiar light-blue eyes. As a child, he strived to make those beautiful eyes glow alight with approval and laughter. Now, those same eyes gazed in horror right back at him, full with unshed tears.

It was his mother. The Dark Lord wanted him to kill his own mother. The dark unfamiliar fog thundered ever closer as Draco's emotions whirled in troubled chaos.

Mother and son stared silently at one another. The blade tensed near his fluttering heart, and all was still.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings**: Dark themes

**Chapter 4**

Someone was humming. A squeaky, childish tone, not unlike the shrill chatter of a chipmunk, sounded out an unfamiliar tune. It was a cheerful tune, with plenty of high and quick notes that had no room for even a slight break in between.

Draco laid still, eyes closed, listening silently. Although the noise grated his ears, he could not find the energy to voice a complaint. A suffocating pressure somewhere around his middle made it difficult to breathe, much less talk. He could feel pain all along his torso. Sometimes, the pain lanced up sharply, almost unbearably.

Suddenly, Draco noticed a different kind of pressure on the top of his head. It was slight and disappeared after a short moment, only to return a second later. The pressure was there, then it was gone. There it was again. Now, gone. Confused, Draco tried to think up of a logical explanation to this phenomenon. He could open his eyes and see for himself the source of the fleeting touch. However, his eyelids felt too heavy and the darkness too comfortable.

The uncertainty bothered him. Draco racked his mind, urging it to come up with the answer. After a few seconds of effort, Draco realized that it was a touch he had felt dozens of times before. The familiar feeling brought forth a calmness that faintly soothed the unrelenting pain.

Someone was stroking his hair, gentle fingers combing through the strands. The sensation felt quite pleasant and almost succeeded in lulling Draco back to sleep. Blissful sleep. He would fall asleep and escape the pain. He could worry about that later, when his eyelids did not feel quite so heavy. Like so many times in his past, his head rested upon an inviting lap, allowing cool fingers to run smoothly through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.

_Wait a moment. Sleep?_

Abruptly, Draco sat up, eyes snapping open as sudden images of the Dark Lord and the bright cellar whirled chaotically in his mind, only to fall back down again as agony ripped across his body. Gasping, he curled into himself, attempting to alleviate the sudden excruciating pain.

After a moment, Draco managed to regain control of his breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to take shallow, even breaths, and gradually, the pain lessened. Once only a dull ache and pressure remained, Draco forced open his eyes, careful not to move anything else.

Before him were familiar stone walls, a familiar stone floor, and those familiar hellish candles.

He was back in his prison cell.

The urge to throw his head back and scream out in frustration surged through him, but given his condition, Draco knew that was not a good idea. Instead, he allowed himself to let out a groan as he slowly sat back up. The change in position made the pain slightly sharper, although it was still tolerable. Gazing down at himself, Draco noticed that his ripped, blood-covered shirt was gone. Instead, his robes had covered him like a blanket, concealing the fact that someone had wrapped his torso tightly with white bandages.

Inspecting the bandages more closely, Draco deemed that they were recently changed, seeing as how not even a pale stain of blood had leaked through to the outer layer. A lower glance told him that he still wore his blood-encrusted trousers and his disgracefully scuffed-beyond-repair oxford shoes. Despite his situation, he could still feel a tiny twinge of remorse when he saw scratches that not even a house-elf could polish away.

The thought about house-elves reminded Draco of the brutal massacre of his own elves, leading his mind to conjure up the terrifying image of the Dark Lord, which then allowed memories of his torture session to resurface. His heart quickened as the images bombarded his mind. He remembered how he had felt, the pain, terror, and dread nearly succeeding in splinting his mind into insanity. He remembered the horror in the prisoners' eyes. He remembered the look on Weasley's face when he raised his wand to the little girl. He remembered staring into his mother's eyes…

Suddenly, it felt as if everything stopped. Draco couldn't breathe. His heart didn't seem to be beating. His head felt plugged as echoes of shouts and screams sounded faintly in his mind. Absently, he noted that his hands had started their trembling once again.

Draco couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything after the sick realization that he was supposed to murder his own mother. The vision of her slumped form only a couple meters before him overtook his mind. Her hair was let down, with none of the pretty adornments that it usually held. A few frazzled strands floated in front of her face, stressing the direness of the situation when she made no effort to put them back into place. So pale, everything about her was pale. Her ivory skin glowed sickeningly in the bright light. Cheeks appeared sunken, ghoulish. It was difficult to distinguish the pinkness of her lips. The person in front of him did not look like his mother, and yet it was her. Those pale, blue eyes and white-blonde hair only belonged to Narcissa Malfoy.

The memory of her appearance ignited a spark of anger within him, pulling him sharply out of the past. However, the anger did not last long. Draco sat still, staring at a spot on the floor near his foot. He remembered he had raised his wand before seeing his mother. What happened afterward? Did he lower his wand? Surely he didn't _kill_ her?

Draco shook his head vigorously to clear any doubts. Of course he didn't kill her. The idea was ridiculous. He couldn't even say the incantation aloud, let alone find enough hatred and anger to cast a successful killing curse.

Then why was he still alive?

The question shined like a beacon in his head. Draco furrowed his brow and bit his bottom lip. He tried desperately to keep his doubts at bay, casting aimlessly around his thoughts to find an explanation. He recalled hearing shouts and screams. Were they simply his screams? Or did something else happen after his mother was brought out? Why couldn't he remember?

"Are you still hurt?"

The sudden noise made Draco jump and turn his head so fast that the motion produced a sickening crack. He hadn't heard anyone enter his prison. He would have heard them coming down the stairs.

Looking over his shoulder, Draco found that no one had come down the stairs. Instead, Draco was surprised to see someone already sitting in the cell just a meter behind him. He was even more surprised when he recognized the person to be that little muggle girl in the cellar.

Thinking back to the last few minutes, Draco realized that he did not imagine the humming or the hair stroking. "What are you doing here?" he blurted out, voice slightly hoarse.

The girl's large green eyes blinked a few times. After several seconds, as if she was having trouble thinking up of an answer, she replied haltingly, "I was helping you get better. You're very sick."

Draco stared silently at the girl, at a lost as to how to reply. Should he ask her what in the world was she doing stroking his hair as if they were familiar with each other? Suddenly, he remembered that this girl could tell him what had happened in the cellar. Now with a plan in mind, his shock faded away, only to be replaced with urgency.

He forced himself to turn slowly around, taking care not to move his torso any more than necessary. Once he faced the girl, he asked, "Do you remember when we were in the cellar?" His tone was rushed. "Can you tell me what happened?"

His questions appeared to make her uneasy. Her face scrunched up, and her eyes squinted closed, as if she tried to shut out a terrifying vision. "They told me that they'll take me back to Mum," she whimpered. She opened her eyes and looked around the cell uncertainly, then rested her gaze back on Draco. "Can you help me find her?"

She was scared, Draco could see that now. Her reddish-blonde hair was a mess, and a small sunflower hairclip could barely be seen among the tangled knots. Her clothes were dirty, although free from rips and holes. She sat with her legs crossed, hands clasped together tightly upon her lap.

Draco shook his head slightly, exasperated and impatient to find the answer. "I might be able to, if you tell me what happened to _my_ mother. Did you see where they took her?" After a slight pause, Draco added, "She was the tall woman with blonde hair."

The absence of his denial animated the little girl. Her eyes shined bright as she leaned closer. "You'll bring me to Mum? Can we go now?"

"No, not now," Draco answered shortly. His heart was in his throat from being so near to the truth of what had happened. "Tell me what happened in the cellar first."

The girl wrinkled her brow and pushed out her bottom lip. She stared silently at Draco's face, one hand fidgeting with a strand of tangled hair. Meanwhile, Draco felt as if he would explode from impatience. "Well?" he managed say through gritted teeth.

"I don't know." Her big green eyes lowered to rest on his bandaged torso. "People ran in and everyone got into a fight. The monster took the knife out of you and you fell down."

Draco cocked his head to the side, not sure whether he understood her correctly. "There was a fight? A fight with whom?"

Thin shoulders raised and fell in a shrug. "They looked like normal people, but they had wands too." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "They can do _magic_, like my sister." Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh! You had a wand! Can you do _magic_ too? Like my sister?"

Preventing himself from sighing in exasperation, Draco nodded. "Yes, I can. What did you mean by 'normal people?'"

"They don't wear the masks," she whispered, scared once again.

Draco stayed quiet. It sounded as if there were infiltrators in the manor. But how was that possible? Severus told him that he upgraded the wards. Who could they be? Draco stared at the little girl, contemplating whether he should ask her for descriptions. He decided against it when he remembered his mother. The suicidal "normal people" were none of his concern. "Did you see where my mother went?" he asked.

He drooped visibly when the girl shook her head no. The disappointment was heavy and almost dragged him back into the foggy corner of his mind. He wanted to escape, to feel nothing but numbness; however, this was no longer only about him. He couldn't allow himself to waste time in his internal world that he had created to escape his suffering. He had to find out what had happened to his mother.

Draco closed his eyes, conjuring up the vision of her pale-blue eyes. Her gaze, never so disapproving like his father's, invoked a feeling of determination inside him. He couldn't fail her. He had to find her.

Draco opened his eyes to see the little girl still staring at him. Her eyes widened and she gave a wide smile. "We can go find her together. We can find my mum too!" The idea pleased her, and she scrambled up onto her two feet. Hopping the few steps to the gate, she clutched one hand to her sunflower hair clip, as if to reassure herself that it was still there.

Draco's gaze slid to the thick steel bars, about to tell her that it was impossible to escape. His heart nearly stopped in shock when the girl simply pushed open the gate. He could do nothing but stare dumbly at her while she held the gate open, waiting for him. Then, all at once, feelings of excitement, joy, and hope surged through him. His determination grew ten-fold as visions of freedom flashed rapidly across his mind.

Draco struggled to his feet, nearly biting his tongue in half when his wound blazed in protest. The process of transferring his weight from his bottom to his feet was agonizing. Draco tried his best to ignore it, letting the thought of freedom motivate his body to move despite the pain. Once he was stable on his feet, his eyes refocused to find the girl by his side, clenching his left arm, eyes wide in concern.

Startled, Draco quickly jerked his arm away and almost fell back down. He staggered a few feet away from the girl, trying to erase the image of her hurt expression from his mind.

"You're still very sick," he heard her say. Draco gritted his teeth. He told himself that her upset tone did not bother him at all. Instead of replying, he made his way toward the opened gate. Each step jiggered his wound, making it feel as if he was being stabbed again and again.

By the time he reached the gate, which was only a measly seven footsteps away, Draco was audibly gasping. Sudden bright spots in his vision forced him to stop just a few steps through the gate. Frustration bubbled in his gut as he stood there with eyes closed. He could just barely keep the familiar feeling of dread at bay as he contemplated his situation.

He was hurt. Seriously hurt. With a jolt, he realized that he hadn't actually seen his wound for himself. Draco worried his bottom lip, wondering if he should take a quick peek.

"What's wrong?"

Draco opened his eyes to the sight of the ascending steps of the staircase. He felt his heart drop as he counted the steps. Had there always been that many steps? "Nothing's wrong," he answered shortly. For the first time in months, he had an opportunity to escape. He wasn't going to waste it because of some stairs.

Bracing himself, Draco continued his painful progress toward the bottom step.


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** Dark themes, language

**Chapter 5**

He was dying. There was no doubt about it. Never will he find out what had happened to his mother. Never will he be able to free his father from Azkaban. Never again will he experience freedom. Instead, here he was, slouching precariously on a cracked stone step, dying.

For perhaps the sixteenth time, Draco let out a groan and pushed himself up another step. His eyes were momentarily closed in order to prevent a sudden blurriness in vision from unbalancing him. Every stitch in his side, every wave of agony, and every short bout of dizziness nearly convinced him to quit and collapse on the cold stone floor.

Yet Draco climbed doggedly on, trying his best to ignore his pain and concern about the possibility of a Death Eater coming down the stairs while he was – Draco grimaced – vulnerable. The thought of him so defenseless frustrated him. Snapping open his eyes, Draco stared at the last few steps in reproach. He knew he was capable of running for miles without any trouble, but now he was reduced to a handicapped elderly attempting to go to bed on a second floor. Gritting his teeth, he straightened his back, aligned his shoulders, tilted up his chin, and forced himself to walk the last few steps as he normally would.

Once Draco finally came upon the top of the stairs, he dropped to the floor despite himself as relief coursed throughout his body, liquefying his muscles.

"Are you sleepy?" The squeaky voice behind him grated on Draco's ears. He would've rolled his eyes but even doing that seemed to require too much energy. The small girl stalked a few steps until she faced him. Draco gazed at the tiny girl somewhat warily. "Mum said to go to sleep when you feel sleepy. If you don't, you turn into an ugly vampire," she stated earnestly.

Draco narrowed his eyes, staying silent. After a short moment of studying the seemingly innocent face, he reassured himself that the muggle was simply an idiot and was not actually teasing him. With a faint sigh, he got up from the ground, trying his best to tolerate the sharp twinge his wound gave. He gazed down the dimly lit corridor. It was eerily quiet, as if he and the girl were the only ones in the manor.

Buoyed by his success at climbing the stairs, Draco set off at a steady but slow pace towards the manor's foyer. From there, he could access the grand stairway to his parents' suites. He hoped to find his mother in her rooms.

The little girl easily kept pace beside him. Her large eyes shined with excitement at the possibility of seeing her mother again. Frequently, she peered at Draco out of the corners of her eyes, as if to reassure herself that he didn't magically disappear and leave her alone.

If Draco noticed her sidelong glances, he didn't show it. Instead, his eyes darted from one patch of shadow to another while he attempted to come up with a plan. He knew this manor better than the backs of his own hands. Secret passages and rooms were no secret to him, and he was aware of every single route of entry and exit in the manor. However, his familiarity with his own home will be for naught if he unknowingly stumbled headlong into a Death Eater. He was no match for a full grown wizard in his condition, even a startled full grown wizard. Draco's brows furrowed in contemplation and gradually, his steps slowed. After taking only a few steps more, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

The girl followed suit, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and impatience on her face. Draco glanced down at her and understood her feelings immediately. She was anxious to find her mother, as was he. Truthfully, he cared nothing about the girl or her mother, and for a moment, Draco entertained the idea of simply leaving the girl back in the cell. However, the thought was easily set aside. The girl did not hinder him as much as his wound did, and leaving a child in the hands of the Dark Lord's agents was too cruel even for him. As for her mother…if the woman wasn't in the dungeons under the kitchens, she was either dead or claimed by a Death Eater. Draco curled his lips in disgust at the thought, and though his gut turned uneasily, he simply could not poke his head in every bedroom occupied by a Death Eater to find the woman. He might as well head straight to the Dark Lord and bare his throat for him to slit. As his thoughts unfurled, Draco shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the girl waiting quietly beside him.

His mother, on the other hand, wasn't a stranger. He must make an effort to find her and take her away from her humiliating life as a house elf. Suddenly, the image of him aiming his wand at her kneeling form returned unbidden in his mind, bringing with it a nauseous lurch of his stomach. The uncertainties and uneasiness he had felt in his prison returned. His mind whirled with dozens of questions clamoring to hold more than a second of his contemplation.

"I want Mum."

The sudden statement brought Draco out of his musings. He turned his gray eyes to the muggle once again, then jerked his head to the end of the corridor as he realized he had been standing stalk still in the middle of the hallway where anyone could easily see and attack him. Quick eyes scanned his surroundings, shoulders tensed. Once Draco reassured himself that no enemy had decided to sneak up on him, he turned to the girl. The girl, in turn, widened her eyes in expectation.

"We have to leave this place," Draco said slowly and clearly. He had no idea how much her young mind could understand, and he was never really good with children. However, he'll be damned if the girl screwed up his chance of escaping. The fact that he had gotten this far only thanks to the girl conveniently slipped his mind.

"We get Mum first," she replied, nodding her head in childish certainty. "Your mum too," she added.

Draco stared at her for a moment, wondering whether he should deny her outright or allow her to continue believing he would actually attempt to find her mother. If he told her the truth here, she may no longer wish to follow him. Once again, the uneasy feeling returned. No, his conscience would never allow him to leave her here. He gave a brief nod, and then faced determinedly toward the end of the hallway. He could barely make out the faint shadow of the plain wooden door that led to yet another hallway, albeit a much grander one.

Every movement careful and tentative, Draco continued his way toward his prison's exit. It was difficult and exhausting, yet he moved on, his mouth set in a grim line so that only the barest hint of his lips was visible. After a while, the edges of his vision blurred and his heartbeat noticeably quickened. Draco sighed in exasperation at his current state but kept his slow pace toward the door.

Finally, Draco reached out a hand to grasp the cool brass doorknob. Bringing his body close to the wooden frame and silencing his breathing, he slowly turned the knob and opened the door to reveal a slight opening.

His current location was a nondescript dusty corner of the main corridor. Shadows generously covered several meters outward from the door. Strangely, none of the myriad lamps spaced evenly on the stone walls were lit. The sight before him caused chilly tingles to travel up and down his spine. This hallway had always been bright with either the lamps' glow or sunlight through the long window that covered the entire opposite wall. Now, the window was sealed tight with heavy curtains.

After making sure that no one skulked among the shadows, Draco pulled the door open wider and took a step forward, another foot away from his blasted prison.

Draco continued to move away from the door, keeping his back close to the wall. He placed the tips of his toes upon the ground gently, and then slowly eased his foot down until the balls of his feet contacted the floor with not even the slightest whisper of sound. He was quiet, little more than a shadow. However…

Draco grimaced when, once again, there was the sound of shuffling feet behind him. Gritting his teeth, he stopped and turned to face the muggle. The girl was crouched in a typical sneaking pose with both arms bent before her and head hunched into her shoulders. Her tiny feet strained on tip toes while her knees were bent at an angle that hindered rather than helped her ability to move quietly. Her face was the epitome of fierce concentration. The sight of her nearly had him smirking in amusement, but he managed to school his face into a stern expression instead. He raised a finger to his lips and reached out with his other hand to stop her. Leaning in close to her ear, he breathed, "Don't make _any_ sounds. Copy what I do." When the girl nodded, Draco turned forward and continued on his way. He attempted to push his pain to the back of his mind, focusing instead on his surroundings.

The main corridor remained empty. Stone pillars occasionally rose up to the high ceiling, casting even darker shadows. Doors that interrupted the wall behind his back were shut tight. No hint of light or sound permeated through the small cracks. Draco knew where each door led to, even though he had never entered quite a few of them. A couple minutes of ago, he had passed the gallery of the Malfoy lineage. The absence of noise behind that particular gilded ebony door was now a common thing. Whether through magic or by personal choice, the many portraits ceased talking when the manor was usurped. No sound, not even a cough or sniffle, was made. For some reason, Draco couldn't help but breathe out in relief when he was a few steps away from the door. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath.

Draco's breathing hitched when he realized he was approaching the manor's foyer. The foyer, located exactly in the center of the north side of the manor, was a sight to behold. The high engraved ceiling shown with a never-ending magical glow, washing the room with soft golden light. Delicate glassworks and sculptures carved by talented purebloods were spaced evenly around the area. The marble floor shined brightly as though it were recently cleaned.

Draco and the girl entered the foyer from the west. Directly across from him was the east main corridor, where the kitchens and rooms perfect for social gatherings were located. To his right was the main entrance to the manor. The great doors shimmered with ethereal light, an effect of the many wards placed upon it. To his left was his destination: the grand staircase to the family's living quarters. There were two identical staircases, one leading east and the other leading west. The west staircase led to dozens upon dozens of guestrooms. The east staircase led to the Malfoys' private rooms, whether it be bedrooms, libraries, or studies. Before the return of the Dark Lord, no one but the Malfoys were allowed to enter the east hallway on the second story.

Still standing near the entrance to the west main corridor, comfortably in the shadows, Draco gazed upon the staircases with disgust. There was easily double the number of steps on this one compared to the staircase leading out of his prison. However, if he fell, he would at least fall on plush, soft carpet instead of sharp, cold stone. The thought did not put him completely at ease.

The longer he stared, the greater his misgivings grew. Not only would his wound guarantee a slow and painful journey to the second floor, but he would also be completely exposed. Who knew how many Death Eaters prowled up there? With a sigh, Draco cast his gaze randomly about the room, hoping inspiration would strike. For the next few minutes, he flipped through the list of secret passageways in his head. Many would not suit his needs, and though some would certainly be useful in escaping the manor, none would help him get to his mother's bedroom. Hidden tunnels existed in every room located in the east hallway of the second story; however, every single one of tunnels led outside of the manor grounds, to a place where Apparition was allowed.

Without even realizing it, Draco had rested his eyes on the entrance of the hallway directly across from him. Once he emerged from his thoughts and registered the sight, the clear image of his mother before his wand flashed once again in his memory. Draco bit his lip, turning the memory over and over in his head. He tried to remember which direction his mother had entered his vision. Did she come from the dungeons like the other prisoners? Or through the door leading back to the kitchen? Draco sighed when he drew a blank. He stared dubiously at the dim hallway, contemplating his next move. He _could_ visit the dungeons and see if his mother were there. The journey would certainly be safer than climbing the staircase and poking his head around the Death Eater's sleeping quarters.

_Safer_, Draco thought. _Safer is better._ Nodding to himself, he set one foot carefully forward, preparing himself to make a mad dash across the bright foyer to the dark, which hopefully meant empty, east corridor. Just as he was about to tell the little girl beside him to follow closely, his ears picked up a faint sound

Draco froze. The sound was continuous and getting louder. His heart fluttered when he recognized the _pat-pat_ sound of feet on carpet. Worried, he raised his eyes to the tops of the staircases, where the junction between the guestrooms and the family quarters could be seen from the first story. He could see no one, not even a shadow. Yet, those footsteps can only come from up there. The sound was still too faint for it to come from behind him, and the corridor across from him had marble floors. Heart in his throat, he retreated further into the shadows, never removing his eyes from the tops of the stairs.

"What's…"

Quicker than he thought possible, Draco clapped a hand over the girl's mouth, eyes wide with alarm. Anger flared hot within him, and he yanked her arm quite roughly back into the relative safety of the west corridor. Ignoring her look of stunned surprise, Draco hissed into her ear, "_Keep quiet and stay._" With that, he turned quickly around, sneaking back into the foyer to see if anyone had emerged into sight and leaving the muggle to stand hidden behind a stone pillar alone in the dark.

When he returned to the end of the west corridor, he cautiously poked his head past the corner, peering up as he did so. Now, the sound of footsteps was no longer faint. He could clearly hear each footfall and only a few seconds later, he made out the dim shade of someone's shadow growing bigger on the wall. Draco involuntarily shrank back a little. However, curiosity kept him from retreating completely.

He didn't have to wait long for the figure to appear. The person, slender and of medium height, arrived at the top of the west staircase, and Draco squinted his eyes to better make out the features of the face. Almost immediately, recognition dawned on him. A cold stone of shock settled in his stomach and it took him awhile to reassure himself that his eyes weren't lying to him.

One of the more intelligent of his small group of friends, Pansy Parkinson strolled down the grand staircase as if she owned the manor. She had allowed her dark hair to grow out and it tumbled down to the small of her back. Her tanned skin seemed to glow golden in the ceiling's magical light. Her usual look of disdain was absent. Instead, her expression was unguarded, and she appeared bored as she made her way down.

Pressing himself closer to the wall, Draco tried to figure out where his old friend was headed. If she were to make her way toward him, he had to move fast. Perhaps take the muggle and hide behind one of the dozens of doors they had passed.

Once Pansy set foot upon the foyer's floor, she immediately turned toward the east corridor. Draco just barely managed to contain his sigh of relief. He watched her back as she walked away from him. As she made her way to the center of the foyer, a stream of questions bubbled in Draco's mind. Why was Pansy here? Why had he met no Death Eaters while arriving here? Why was the gate to his cell unlocked? However, perhaps the most important question of all repeated itself again and again in his mind. Where was his mother?

Suddenly, a noise behind him nearly caused him to whirl around. With barely a twitch of his shoulders, he forced himself to stay still. Any movement may create more sounds that might bring Pansy's attention to his hiding spot. To his dismay, the noise did not cease. It was a sniffling sound. Draco strained his ears and could make out irregular sighs and occasional wet-sounding sniffs.

That little muggle girl was crying. _Crying._ Crying _loudly_.

Draco gritted his teeth in annoyance as he refocused his vision onto Pansy's back. To his horror, she had frozen, standing with her back ramrod straight and head tilted slightly to the side. Draco watched as Pansy slowly turned around to face him. Her face still showed no expression, though her brows were somewhat wrinkled in curiosity. When she set one foot toward him, Draco slowly removed himself from the corner he had been leaning against to watch her. As quietly as he could, he retreated deeper into the west corridor, closer to the sound of the muggle's crying.

He hadn't taken the girl too far into the corridor. His wound didn't allow him much energy for that. Nevertheless, her location still seemed too far away for him to make it to her before Pansy reached the corridor's entrance. Despite the darkness, Draco had no doubt that she would be able to see him.

Draco quickened his steps as much as he could. He was hindered both by his desire to keep silent and his ever annoying wound. At the same time, he was thinking. Draco was always thinking. He thought about grabbing the girl and running quickly to his ancestors' gallery, where a secret tunnel led to the manor's maze garden outside. He could easily lose Pansy among the tall indestructible hedges. However, once they set foot outside, it would be impossible for him to return. Ancient wards locked every secret exit in order to prevent accidental discovery of the manor from curious eyes. Draco couldn't do it. He couldn't give up this chance to free at least one of his parents. Suddenly, on a whim, he stopped and rushed through the nearest door he could reach.

Absently, he noted that he had entered one of the many music rooms in the manor. A dusty grand piano stood solitary in the corner of the room. Draco didn't shut the door completely. Instead, he allowed a small slit, just big enough for one eye to see through.

He waited for what seemed like a few minutes. Pansy must be very cautious or simply taking her sweet time. Draco hadn't even gone that far into the corridor.

Just as he was about to doubt whether Pansy had actually followed him, he noticed the bright light of a wand making its way nearer to him. Fighting the urge to slam the door shut and scramble to hide in a dark corner, Draco watched on as Pansy came upon his door. He held his breath, praying that she continue on without noticing this particular door out of the many other doors she had already went by.

When Pansy passed his position and moved on toward the sound of crying, Draco almost sighed in relief. He wasn't done yet, however, as seeing the girl out and about may warn Pansy that he had escaped as well.

Quickly, he shifted his mind into strict order as he had done so many times before in his battles with Death Eaters. It was a strange phenomenon, one he hadn't even noticed he'd been doing until he had been snapped out of it by a painful hex to his back. In this mind state, he had the ability to dull all feelings, including pain, and sharpen his focus. No satisfaction, fear, fright, or joy. Only a concentrated focus that resulted in swift deliberate action. That is, until he encountered something that frightened the deepest core of his inner self.

He waited until Pansy moved a few meters away from his door, and then quickly pulled the door open wider and slipped out in one smooth motion. Somewhere in his head, Draco absently thanked whoever was watching over him when the door did not creak on its hinges.

Carefully, taking only shallow silent breaths, Draco snuck up behind Pansy. The witch continued on, unaware that her childhood friend was only a couple feet away. Watching her, Draco contemplated his next move. When no great idea came, he broke his mind even further, dulling his focus and settling into a state that trusted the instincts honed into him in the past few months.

Fluidly, Draco reached out and grabbed her wand arm, yanking her roughly toward him. She whirled easily, as she was on the small side, a look of shock upon her face. Despite his dulled emotions, Draco felt a small pang of regret as he shot out his other hand, palm heel out, and precisely struck the solar plexus a little above her stomach.

Air flew out of Pansy's lips, and she staggered back, falling on her bottom when she tripped over her own feet. She dropped her wand and brought both arms to her stomach. Gasping and looking up, she stared, still in shock at Draco, who had picked up her wand.

"Ah, Pansy," Draco said quietly, easing himself back into a normal mind state. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt terribly?"

For a while, Pansy did nothing but look at him. Her eyes traveled from his face, to his torso, where he wore nothing but bandages, and back again. Suddenly, her face screwed up in rage. "What the _fuck_, Draco?" she growled low in her throat. Seemingly recovered, she picked herself off the floor and stood before him, ignoring the fact that he held her wand. She stared at him for a moment longer, and then opened her mouth, "I haven't seen you in _forever_, and the first thing you do is _attack_ me?"

Draco blinked but didn't say anything. He inched his way toward the wall to his right, gripping the wand tightly in his right hand. Once his back was safely to the wall, allowing him to view both ends of the hallway, he said "I already apologized, Pansy. Tell me; are you also a Death Eater?"

Pansy appeared surprised at the question. She shrugged. "No," she answered simply.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her short answer. He rolled his eyes. "Then why are you here?"

"Why are _you_ here?" she countered. "I believe they stuck you in a cell, in _your _own home." Before Draco could reply she jerked her head in the direction of the crying sound, which by now, had ceased. "And what the _hell_ was that? Someone crying? It wasn't you, was it?" She placed both hands on her hips. "Draco, give me a reason why I shouldn't summon all the Death Eaters here right now." She sounded slightly exasperated.

"Are you saying there's a chance you won't turn me in?" Now, it was Draco's turn to be surprised, but despite that, he still held her wand at ready.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "We've known each other since we were in diapers. I won't betray you. But," she shrugged. "Ask me this a couple days ago, I probably would've handed you off to the nearest Death Eater in a heartbeat." She grinned, her large brown eyes alighting in mirth.

"Really. What was going on a couple days ago?"

"Well, I only arrived here a couple days ago, and this place wasn't this empty back then. I even got a glimpse of the Dark Lord, and oh Draco, he looked positively _overjoyed_. It was a frightful sight, I'll be honest. Everyone was in high energy, actually. It was damned amusing, only when, you know, they didn't have their attentions on you," Pansy grimaced. Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. She shifted her weight and then took a small step toward him. "I looked for you for _hours_. Your bloody manor is ridiculous. The few people who would answer my questions simply told me that they stuck you in a cell somewhere. They didn't even know _where_." Suddenly, her voice became small. "No one told me you were injured."

Draco glanced down at his bandages. "Ah, yes. The Dark Lord stuck a sword in me." Ignoring Pansy's look of disgust, he continued, "Pansy, do you know where my mother is?"

Instead of answering his question, she whispered, "Like when Potter hurt you, right? In sixth year, he almost killed you."

Usually, Draco enjoyed her concern, but now, he waved the matter aside impatiently. "Pansy, stay with me here. Where's my mother? Or my wand?"

Pansy shrugged. "I haven't the slightest idea. She's not in her rooms; I'm staying in there for the time being." She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I haven't seen her or your wand at all. Oh, and speaking of wands, please return mine, Draco." When Draco made no move to hand her wand back, she pouted. "Aw Draco, don't be like that. I'll help you in another way, I promise, but give me back my wand."

"You'll help me? You'll go against the Dark Lord and your father?"

"The Dark Lord's not here right now. The only people here are injured Death Eaters and myself, and by tomorrow, I'm leaving with Mother to Italy. As much as I agree that _some_ people deserve what's coming to them, I'd rather not be here when everything blows to shit in our faces." Pansy's smile grew bigger when a familiar sardonic grin appeared on Draco's face. "Ha! _Now_ you look like the Draco I remember." Her smile turned sweet and she tilted her head to the side. "Want to come with me? I think you took enough of the aforementioned shit." She glanced at the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. "It's only going to get worse from here. I'll let you come with me and we'll wait out this war together. Just give me back my wand."

Draco didn't trust her. Despite their history, he couldn't bring himself to believe her good intentions. Perhaps Pansy noticed his suspicions for she gave a great sigh. "Fine. I can't even be angry with you for being this way since I have no idea what you've been through in the last couple of months. How about a trade then? I'll help you leave the manor, and you'll give me back my wand."

"I can leave the manor fine on my own, Pansy," Draco said, somewhat annoyed.

"Without even a shirt? Poke your head upstairs, Draco, and you'll surely get caught. The Death Eaters may be injured, but they're _bored _too. Fall's coming soon, so you'll need a cloak. New trousers, definitely. Food? Flint and steel?"

"I'll also need a wand."

"Can't help you there. I don't know where prisoners' wands are kept."

"Your wand doesn't seem to mind my wielding it."

"I'll call the Death Eaters. I will."

"You're not afraid of what I'll do to you if you call them?"

"You wouldn't hurt me." Pansy sounded confident, but a faint wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.

Draco idly twirled the wand on his fingers, "I learned some of the most _interesting_ spells during my, ah, confinement."

Now, Pansy seemed annoyed herself. "_Draco_, I'm giving you a chance of leaving this place _prepared_." Her tone changed to almost pleading. "If you leave with my wand, they'll _kill_ me. My father's upstairs right now. When I come back with no wand, and a few days later they realize you had escaped, what do you think will happen to me? My father can't hide _shit_ from the Dark Lord," she said bitterly.

The wand in Draco's hand stopped mid-spin. She was correct. The last thing he wanted was to bring the Dark Lord's attention to an old friend. Painfully, the memory of the night he had unleashed Death Eaters and werewolves into Hogwarts replayed itself in his mind. His stomach flipped nauseously and his mouth had suddenly gone dry. Without giving his overactive brain another moment to think, Draco held out the wand. Pansy hesitantly reached out and grabbed it, as if she suspected a trick.

With the wand back in her hands, Pansy smiled in relief. "We shouldn't waste anymore time. My father's still expecting his tea. Can you believe it, Draco? _I'm_ fetching tea. _Me._ Like some damned house elf." Seeing a dangerous flash in the gray eyes, Pansy hurriedly changed the subject. "Is there someone else back there? I swear I heard crying."

With a glance down the hallway, Draco muttered, "Yes." Hesitantly, he took a step closer to the girl he had left in the darkness. When Pansy moved to follow him, Draco found the energy, or perhaps the courage, to continue on. Pansy's wand was still alight and when they approached the stone pillar where Draco had deposited the muggle, they found her huddled tightly against the wall, looking up at their approach with wide frightened eyes. Tears stains ran down each cheek.

When she registered that it was Draco who came forward, she immediately hopped up and shuffled to him, reaching out a small hand to grasp the side of his pants. The two teenagers glanced at each other, eyebrows raised with mutual amusement. In that instant, Draco was struck with such a strong blow of nostalgia that the corners of his mouth tilted up in the first genuine smile in weeks. Countless times, Pansy and he had shared that look at the expense of the fools scrambling clumsily around in Hogwarts. His heart ached when he thought of Blaise, Vince, and Greg. Never in all his life did he think he would actually _miss_ them, and yet…

"She's a muggle?" Pansy's voice brought Draco out of his thoughts. _Really_, Draco thought, exasperated with himself. _I've been spending too much time in my head lately._ When he nodded, she giggled. "Oh, the situations you get yourself into, Draco," she sighed. She tugged his right arm. "C'mon. Wait near the stairs and I'll pop up and get you a change of clothes."

"Wait," Draco removed himself from her grasp as inoffensively as he could. "You're sure you haven't seen my mother anywhere?"

Pansy shook her head. "She's not upstairs. I should know; Yesterday, I was bored out of my mind, so I did some exploring. She could be in the dungeons?" Her voice was small and timid when she asked the question, unsure of how Draco would react to it. To her relief, he simply nodded.

Without another word, the trio turned and headed back to the foyer. Once they reached the stairs, Pansy turned to Draco. "Stay here." Draco watched her as she ran up the steps and disappeared. He was slightly confused about Pansy's eagerness to help him. With a curl of his lips, he recalled Nott and his "love" for him.

The little girl had yet to let him go. She tugged gently on his pants. "I don't like the dark," she whispered.

Now that Draco knew the only Death Eaters in the manor were in the upper story, he felt somewhat foolish for the way he had acted earlier. However, he did not allow himself to feel regret for long. Muggles didn't deserve that from him. Draco remained silent, eyes stuck to the spot where Pansy would reappear, impatient.

They didn't have to wait long before Pansy bounded down the stairs again, holding a bundle of clothing and a traveling bag in her arms. When Draco reached out to take them, Pansy held it just out of his reach. "Not yet!" she grinned playfully. She raised her wand, and before Draco could move, she hit him with a spell.

Draco's eyes saw nothing but bright orange. When the light faded away, he stared dumbly at the witch, who was currently smiling mischievously. "What did you do?" Draco asked slowly, dangerously.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, calm down, Dray. It's a spell I use every time I go camping. A modified cleaning charm. That's it, I swear. It'll keep you fresh and clean for a little over a month. It does nothing for your mouth though, so I packed you a few toothbrushes!" She held up the traveling bag.

"Pansy, I'm escaping the Dark Lord," Draco said, the words bringing a thrill inside him. "Not going on a camping trip."

She waved his comment aside. "You should still be comfortable while you're at it." She reached out as if to touch him but thought better of it. "They hurt you a lot, didn't they? I know you're trying to hide it, but I can still see it. Your hands are trembling. You're paler and thinner than normal. I wasn't aware you had any weight left in you to lose."

"Why are you doing this?" Draco couldn't leave the question unasked in his mind.

Pansy stared at him for a few seconds. "You shouldn't even have to ask that," she mumbled. Abruptly, she thrust her burden toward Draco. "I'll return to my father now and tell him I botched up the tea. It's believable enough. After, I'll hang around and distract anyone who looks to be heading downstairs. Then, after _that_, I think I'm going to soak in a nice hot bath for an hour. That punch you gave me _hurts_. If it weren't for my brilliant acting skills, I'd be hanging on to your arm weeping in pain." Her words had no bite to them, but she did seem a little angry.

Draco gave her another smile, and she brightened up immediately. "Sorry again." When she nodded, Draco turned towards the corridor leading to the kitchens. "I'll be going then. Thank you."

"Goodbye, Dray."

Draco didn't look back as he entered the corridor. The little girl's hand still grasped his pants, but he paid it no thought. His mind was already focused on something else. _Please be there_, he thought. The three words repeated themselves again and again in his mind. His heart quickened anxiously and he gripped the bundle of clothes tighter.

Once they reached the familiar kitchen door, Draco forced himself to relax. Although it seemed like the first floor held no Death Eaters, it was better to be safe. "Wait here," he murmured to the girl. When her eyes widened once again in fear, Draco became annoyed. "I'll only be a minute."

He forced the girl's hand off his pants and then shifted the bundle under one arm. Using his free hand, he slowly opened the door. Crouching slightly, he slipped quietly in, sticking to the numerous spots of shadows within.

Behind him, the door automatically shut. Although still dim, the kitchen was relatively bright compared to the corridor. Draco's eyes swept the room. Seeing no one hiding behind corners and under tables, the tenseness that had stiffened his muscles relaxed. He walked toward a small wooden table holding stacks of steel bowls and plopped his bundle onto the surface.

Quickly, he put on the shirt Pansy had picked for him. The color was such a dark green that it was almost black, and the material was a coarse but fine fabric that could endure prolonged exposure to the outside elements. With a jolt, he realized he had worn it a few times when he went riding. After his trembling but deft fingers fitted all the black buttons into their slots, he exchanged his blood encrusted trousers for the clean pair that Pansy provided with relief. Now that he was fully dressed, Draco felt a lot better, almost ridiculously so. He reached for the traveling bag and peeked in. He could make out a couple toothbrushes, a brush, and a hand mirror among a few other things he couldn't discern. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he quickly stuffed the bloody trousers into the bag and went back to the door to retrieve the girl.

When the girl saw him in new clothes, she laughed delightedly and brought her hands together. "Pretty!" she exclaimed.

Draco frowned, but decided to pretend she hadn't said that. "Let's go," he said.

The girl followed him as he made his way through the kitchen, heading toward the nondescript corner where the entrance to the cellar awaited. Throwing caution out to the wind, Draco opened the door and hurried down the stairs and across the cellar. With difficulty, he stifled both his pain and the memories that threatened to bubble up in his mind and render him useless. He allowed his eyes to look only at the steel door to the dungeons.

Almost gratefully, Draco grabbed the cold handle and turned, pulling the heavy door open. At once, a waft of air smelling of human waste had him gagging. He barely managed to keep the contents in his stomach as he – Merlin kill him now – made his way down yet another flight of stairs. The girl follow behind him, her fingers squeezing her nose shut.

The Malfoy Manor dungeon was a nightmare in and of itself. Lit with ever burning torches spaced generously apart, the place offered a dozen cells, which were closed off with thick steel bars. Smooth stone walls separated each cell; however, there were areas where the walls were crumbled: devastation caused by enthusiastic torturers. The smell of human waste, vomit, rotting meat, blood, and despair settled like a blanket throughout the area, threatening to suffocate those who no longer carried the will to live.

Draco picked his way through the dungeon, taking care not to step on anything suspicious. The smell fuddled with his mind, and he struggled to keep focused. He peered through the bars of each cell, searching desperately for a pale blonde head.

Each cell he passed was empty. No suffering body, no pathetic moans, and no pleas of mercy greeted him as he made his way deeper into the dungeon. However, Draco's sensitive ears picked up shuffling sounds at the very end, in the last cell. Not wanting to get his hopes up, Draco took a deep breath despite the stench to calm his fluttering heart. Bracing himself, he stepped forward to stare straight into the eyes of…

"Weasley," Draco said. The shock hit him a strange way, making his voice come out dull and emotionless. The blue eyes he stared into widened almost comically. More shuffling shapes in the cell caught Draco's eyes. "Weasleys," he amended when he counted three more heads with flaming red hair.

Draco stood frozen, shock etched clearly on his face, as four pairs of blue eyes stared back at him.


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings: **Dark themes, language

**Chapter 6**

As usual, Draco quickly regained his composure and schooled his face to show a detached amusement. "Well, if this isn't the most pathetic sight I've seen yet," he said, his voice light and scathing. Four pairs of eyes narrowed at him in the gloom, and Draco gave them a cheery smile. "You Weasleys seem to be more dense then I thought, seeing that half of you have gotten yourselves captured."

Suddenly, the tallest one, Potter's sidekick, leapt to grab the bars near Draco's face. "_Fuck off_ you pointy git. We're not telling any of you anything more!"

Draco curled his lips. "I have _never_ been interested in what you had to say. Why the hell would I start now?" Seeing the freckled face stirred a particular annoyance inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time. With difficulty, he stifled the feeling and peered around him at the depressing scene. The absence of his mother in this filth gave him mixed emotions. He was glad she didn't have to suffer in here, and yet, he despaired of not finding her before he left.

The little girl by his side stepped up and grabbed the side of his trousers again. "Ron!" Because she was unable to pronounce the "r," it came out rather like, "Won!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed blue eyes widening in recognition. "Sophie! Where have you been?" There was a clear tone of relief in his voice.

Draco looked from the girl, to Weasley, and back again. Before she could reply to the question, Draco asked, "Sophie's your name?" When the girl nodded, he continued, "And you know him?" He jerked his head toward the redhead.

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's Ron! My friend!"

"Really," Draco grimaced. He glanced at the lanky figure gripping the bars and noticed that his long legs and arms showed a familiar trembling. "I can't for the life of me see why you would want to be his friend."

"Piss off, Malfoy." Weasley muttered. He sounded tired. In fact, his voice shook somewhat at the last syllable. He stepped back from the bars and slid down to sit on the floor.

Draco took one last look around the cell, but the Weasleys were really the only ones left in the dungeons. Without another word, he turned toward the exit, telling himself that it was finally time escape the manor. His mother wasn't here. To his irritation, Sophie did not move, nor did she lessen her grip. "Come on. We have to go." With a slight smirk, he added over his shoulder, "There's nothing here."

"Can Ron come with us?"

Draco heard more shuffling from the cell behind him but didn't turn around. He answered through gritted teeth, "I don't have time for this." Small snippets of his rivalry with the Golden Trio flashed through his mind. Quiddich games. The mudblood's punch. That bloody hippogriff. Almost dying in a bathroom. Draco didn't see each member of the Golden Trio as an individual; in his mind, the three Gryffindors made up one entity whose sole purpose was to aggravate him. He pulled the girl toward him, raising a foot toward the exit.

"Please wait," a female's voice called out through the bars.

Draco froze, recognizing the voice belonging to the youngest Weasley but still felt no desire to turn around.

"Please. I think – he's…please, he's dying." Her voice was small, trembling. Draco heard an almost inaudible mutter replying to her plea. "No, shut up. You need help," he heard the girl reply, her voice now stern.

Potter's sidekick gave a great gusty sigh. "Just quit it, Ginny. The ferret's not going to help _us_. Just let him go." Draco's lips twitched at the nickname. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he started walking, pulling Sophie with him.

When he was barely six steps away, he heard the Weasley girl cry out again. "Wait! You're just going to _walk away_, after what you did? You owe us, Malfoy! Your entire damn family owes us! But you, you fucking coward, owe us the most. Do you even realize what you did when you let in those Death Eaters? Because of you, Dumbledore's dead. Because of you, Bill's…he pretends he's fine, but I _know_ he's suffering still. Do you have any idea how much pain you and your family have caused us? To me, and to everyone I've cared about?"

Before Draco could stop himself, he whirled around hard enough for Sophie to lose her grip on him. His steps back to the front of the cell were slow, deliberate. He struggled to control his breathing, but it was difficult. It felt as though something squeezed his chest, suffocating him. He had never felt this angry in his life.

As soon as he caught sight of the roomful of blue eyes, the anger left him as quickly as it had come. Draco knew he did not feel anger toward these people who chose a different path. Instead, it came from recognizing the unwanted guilt that haunted him every time he closed his eyes as he fell asleep. For too long, he fought to keep the feeling hidden, to banish it. Despite his efforts, it clung like stubborn vines, clutching and pricking him until the pain was so raw, his body finally allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to reach him. But even then, his nightmares recounted the screams, the smell of blood, and the electric feel of the air left by powerful spells on that night he chose to betray himself for the sake of both his life and his family.

Draco sucked in a deep, trembling breath. For the first time, someone had managed to bring that guilt to surface in the presence of others. He felt disoriented. This was a feeling meant only for times when he was certain he was alone. Standing here, in front of all these Weasleys, for the first time in his life, Draco was at a lost as to what to say.

He caught the eye of Ron Weasley, who stared back defiantly, neither cowed nor pleading, and let out his breath. A jumble of emotions threatened to make him ill, and determinedly, he suppressed them. Without a word, he brought the back of his left hand up to his mouth and bit hard into the pale skin.

Draco ignored the four sets of surprised eyes, moving his right hand to cover the wound he had made. Licking the irony blood off his lips, he wrapped his bloody hand around a bar of the gate, allowing the old magic of the manor to register his Malfoy lineage. It was precisely this spell preventing the imprisonment of Malfoys in their own home that led to Draco being held in the lone cell across the manor, the purpose of which used to be a holding pen for dangerous and magical creatures.

Draco caught a look of disgust upon Ron's face and heard the wizard mutter, "Blood magic." His expression brought Draco back to himself, reminding him of the situation at hand. It really was time to get out of here. He pulled the gate open and stepped aside.

He watched silently as Ron and Ginny glanced disbelievingly at each other. At the same time, they scrambled quickly to their feet to step out of their cell, as if they were afraid Draco would slam the gate shut if they didn't move fast enough. Now that they moved, Draco could see that the remaining redheads in the prison were none other than the notorious Weasley twins, Fred and George.

One of the twins had stood up, bending down to help support the other, who looked to be in even worse condition than both Draco and Ron put together. Seeing their struggle, Ron went and helped, holding up the limp twin on his other side. The three brothers made a slow progress as they stepped onto the thin pathway leading toward the exit.

Draco stood there, considering his situation. He was badly hurt. His mother was missing. Azkaban still held his father. He was stuck with Weasleys, one of which seemed likely to collapse at any second, and a young muggle girl barely out of toddler age wanting to find her own mother. Additionally, and probably the most daunting of all, Draco did not have his wand.

Before frustration could bubble up inside of him, Draco spoke, "The only Death Eaters here are upstairs, so our way out should be clear. Unless any of you know where they keep the wands, I suggest we leave immediately." When none of them spoke up, Draco sighed. "Fine. Keep up with me. I will leave you behind if you're too slow."

Without waiting to see if anyone was following him, Draco headed directly toward the stairs leading out of the dungeons, recalling a hidden exit in one of the kitchen cupboards. He grimaced when he felt Sophie's hand grab the fabric of his pants again but refused to acknowledge her.

As he climbed the stairs, crossed the cellar, and returned to the kitchen, Draco tried not to think about what his escape signified. He attempted to ignored the tiny niggle of thought trying to convince him that he was turning his back on everything he had ever lived for. The Malfoy name represented nothing but disgrace on both sides of the upcoming war. He had betrayed Hogwarts, but now, he had also betrayed the values and beliefs his family had always supported. At his side was a muggle, and behind him, a group of blood traitors.

Draco swallowed the nausea rising up in his throat as he stared at one particular cupboard that seemed no different from the rest. He closed his eyes to calm his mind, ignoring the chattering of the Weasley family, and coaxed a wave of determination across his body.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck the Dark Lo…Voldemort. Fuck the Death Eaters and his family's pureblood legacy. Fuck the war. Draco was finished with this mess. From now on, his choices were for himself. They would only benefit himself. Only he mattered. Only his parents mattered. He didn't want honor, vengeance, or redemption. Both sides of the war could go bugger themselves; Draco would have none of it. He was done.

Finally, Draco opened his eyes. Straightening his shoulders, he reached out to open the cupboard, to escape his prison at last.


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** None

**Chapter 7**

"Wait. Let's wait for Ron."

Sophie's voice brought Draco out of his thoughts. Relieved, although he would never show it, he allowed his pace to slow until the pair – for Sophie was still tightly gripping the side of his trousers – came to a stop. With each step he took, his wound gave a merciless sting and his breaths became progressively harder to take. However, he would be damned before giving the Weasleys the satisfaction of seeing his weakened condition. Draco plastered an impatient expression on his face and looked behind him.

The sight that greeted him seemed pathetic, quite pitiful. Three thin figures crawled along at a snail's pace, two of them carrying the third between them with obvious difficulty. Their heavy breathing and scraping feet echoed in the confined space, adding to the noise of the thin river of water that ran along the length of the tunnel they were currently traversing. The river was magical of course, spelled to last forever to quench the thirst of any who needs it. Looking past them, Draco noticed the girl trailed a little behind the group, her face indiscernible in the dimness. With plenty of practice reading and interpreting body movements during his imprisonment, Draco noted her slightly hunched shoulders. She was tense, unsure of their situation, and jumpy at any noise, real or imaginary. _Honestly_, Draco thought as he glanced back at the three male Weasleys and the muggle beside him, _the hell am I going to do with these people?_

Once the group came upon a few feet of Draco, Potter's sidekick and one of the twins promptly dropped to the ground, setting the injured one gently on his back. The girl bent down with her family, whispering words so softly that Draco couldn't comprehend her despite the short distance between them. Draco had no problem hearing the injured twin's gasping, however, and he winced as it seemed to get louder and louder. The breaths were uneven and sounded dauntingly wet at times. It was painfully obvious his condition was getting exponentially worse.

Gazing silently at the family conference, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart giving a slight lurch. He wasn't jealous. No, he would never be jealous of Weasleys; but just then, he would give anything to simply know where his mother was and how she was faring. After a few more seconds, Draco said, "What are you Weasleys doing? We have to move."

The girl glanced up, the shadows doing nothing to hide her annoyed expression. "Fred's hurt. We've been walking for at least a damn hour. Death Eaters aren't chasing us. We need a break." Her words and sentences were short and cold.

Suppressing the desire to curl his lips, Draco raised an eyebrow instead. "I see," he replied simply. He turned around, giving the Weasleys his back. "Please, take all the time you need." He shifted Pansy's bag higher onto his shoulders and stuffed his fists into his pockets, unable to hide his annoyance in the action. "When you're good and ready, just follow this tunnel straight to the end. Ignore any doors or panels. The end should open up to a clearing in the forest eight kilometers from the manor. From there, pick a direction and pray that you are not in fact heading straight back to your prison." He placed one foot forward. "I'm afraid I haven't the patience to stick around with you lot. I insist you keep the muggle," he added, wrenching himself away from the girl's grip.

The muggle's sound of protest was drowned out by the Weasley girl's shout. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Draco turned around. "I've already freed you from your prison. What more do you want from me?"

The girl stood up, her lips set in a thin line. "It's killing me inside to ask a _Malfoy_ for help, but I'm not stupid. You've lived here all your life. You know this place. You can take us away from here. You seem to be in the best condition out of all of us…please, help me get Fred home safe, and after this, I'll be in _your_ debt."

A slight movement near the girl caught Draco's eye, and he found himself staring at the tallest member of the group. Potter's sidekick was gazing uncertainly at his sister and then confusedly at Draco. "What's wrong, Weasley? Disturbed that your sister would ask for my help?"

Even in the shadows, Draco could see the pale skin redden. Ron shook his head slightly. Just as he was about to turn his attention back to the girl, Ron's next words made him stiff. "You-Know-Who stabbed you not two days ago," he said. "How are you even standing?"

The words were like a punch in the gut. The remaining air in Draco's lungs gusted out of him, and he couldn't help but stare dumbly at the freckled face, at a loss for words. How had he forgotten? With no one but his mother on his mind back inside the manor, how had he forgotten that Weasley was _there_ _right next to him_?

"Weasley," Draco finally found his voice, and suddenly, the words were tumbling out of his lips. "Where's my mother? Did you see what happened to her?"

Ron looked surprised at the change in subject. Glancing at the twins and his sister, he said, "After these halfwits stormed the place and lost, they threw us all in the cell together. Only Sophie and you were missing."

The twin in better condition spoke up for the first time. "We didn't _lose_." When all eyes turned disbelievingly to him, he visibly slumped. "Well, we _did _injure a few of them," he said sullenly.

"My mother was in the same cell as you?" Draco asked before the twin could talk again.

All the Weasleys, save the one lying disturbingly still on the ground, nodded their heads. With difficulty, Draco swallowed the rage that surged upward inside him. How _dare_ those bastards throw his mother into the dungeons? The cells only recognized and released those with Malfoy blood; therefore, his mother wasn't protected from their imprisonment like Draco and his father. But then again, they did come up with other ways of containing the Malfoys. Draco bitterly recalled his being held in a cage meant for _animals_ and his father wasting away in Azkaban. He sighed, once again hit with the realization of just how low his family had gotten in the past few months.

"Where is she now?" Draco asked. He frowned slightly when his voice came out more faint than he would've liked.

Ron opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, the female Weasley interrupted. "Ron, wait." When Draco looked at her, her face was grim, but determined. She looked him straight in the eyes. "Help us first, and then we'll tell you what happened to your mother, whether she's still alive or not."

Draco shouldn't have been surprised, really. He should've expected this. Malfoys and Weasleys never did anything for each other willingly. There must be a catch. Of course, knowing this made the disappointment inside him no lighter. "Very well," he said. If the Weasley girl was surprised at his quick acceptance, she didn't show it. Instead, she glanced down at the injured twin.

"We should continue," she said. "How are you holding up, Fred?"

The figure on the floor managed a small chuckle that did nothing to alleviate the worried expressions on his family's faces. "You worry too much, Ginny," he rasped, and to their alarm, he tried to pick himself up.

Draco watched impatiently as the rest of the Weasleys scrambled to help him. If anything, they were making the situation worse as hasty hands brushed against too numerous wounds. To his further annoyance, the muggle had reattached her hand on the side of his trousers.

When all four of the Weasleys were upright, he immediately began walking toward the exit. "We don't have far left. Keep up," he said over his shoulders. He swore he heard dark murmurs behind him, but he brushed it aside. Whatever the Weasleys said about him no longer mattered. They were depending on him now. They had no other choice but to follow his footsteps. Draco smiled, and the smile was almost a sad one. In another time, he would've loved this situation: the Weasleys were quite helpless and desperate in his hands. However, he could find no glee or satisfaction within him. Had he changed? Did he finally grow up? Or did the games and torture succeeded in numbing him completely?

Well, whatever the case, Draco hoped that he would get his act together soon. He wasn't quite sure he liked this Draco: a Draco who would help the Weasleys without even one mocking remark. A Draco who would allow a muggle to keep her hands on him. A Draco who would rather be in the company with the people he thought he hated most when he was used to being alone.

Really. This whole situation was quite ridiculous.


	8. Part I: Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** Language

**Chapter 8**

"We're here," Draco announced, not bothering to hide his relief. He heard a collective sigh behind him, as well as Sophie's small cheer. The muggle had finally left Draco alone to hold hands with the female Weasley a couple kilometers back. Although the absence of the constant tugging made it easier for him to walk, it was still a very difficult journey through the tunnel. The group had spent the ridiculous amount of four hours traveling a mere eight kilometers, stopping many times for quick breaks. The wound in his middle bothered him to no end, but surprisingly, the pain was not nearly as intense as when he first stood up in his cell. This made him happier than it should considering the fact that he was still stuck with Weasleys, but he was one step closer to finding his mother and so he did not complain.

The end of the tunnel stood before them, covered generously with shrubs and long slanting branches that did nothing to block the weak sunlight. The packed dirt ground of the tunnel floor gradually became vibrant green grass still wet with dew. Draco's nose twitched at the smell of the outside breeze.

He stepped forward and lifted the branches to create a decent sized opening. He poked his head through to gaze around at the small clearing. "This forest isn't that big. Nowhere near the size of the Forbidden Forest, at least. If we…" Draco trailed off as his eyes caught something odd attached to a thin gnarled tree. Squinting against the sun's glare, he tried to discern what it was. He stepped through the branches and into the clearing, curiosity winning out against caution.

When the thing moved, Draco's heart almost stopped in alarm. He watched as limbs unfolded and the figure stepped forward out of the shadows. In the sunlight, Draco could clearly see the face of a familiar Death Eater, Theodore Nott.

The two Syltherins stared at one another for a few seconds, neither saying a word and, in Draco's case, breathing. When the thin, pale lips curved upward in a smile, Draco tensed.

"Draco! I didn't think you would be able to move yet. I guess I owe someone an apology; those bandages seem to be more successful than I thought."

The words drifted awhile in Draco's mind before he fully comprehended them. Realizing Nott wasn't about to throw any spells at him, he relaxed slightly. "Spelled bandages?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Dipped in a potion, actually," Nott answered, his grin becoming wider. "But say, what are you doing here, Draco? You were supposed to stay in your…" he was cut off as the wall of branches behind Draco shook and split, revealing the Weasleys and the muggle struggling quite comically with getting Fred through without further injuring him. Nott looked back at Draco, his face even more amused than before. "And what the hell is this, Draco? I knew you despised Potter, but I could never have guessed that you wanted to be _like_ Potter." He snickered. "Rescuing Weasleys, now, are ya?"

Draco didn't take the bait. Instead, his mind was racing with possibilities, actions, _anything_ that could bring him out of this mess. He heard an "oh, _fuck_" behind him. Draco snorted. "You by yourself, Nott?" he asked.

Nott shrugged. "Why would I tell you that?" His smile took on a more sinister appearance. "Imagine my surprise when I returned to find your cell empty, Draco. You know who was left in charge of the manor while the Dark Lord attacked Phoenix headquarters?" Nott lifted a thin finger to point to himself. "Me. And you know who would be killed if the prisoners in his care managed to escape?" His head tilted to the side so he could glare pointedly at the twins." Not only those stupid enough to get injured from the Weasleys' attack, but also me. So please, turn back and return to your cells."

Draco was barely listening. Instead, he trusted his instincts to alert him if Nott became hostile. His eyes surreptitiously darted for the tell-tale signs of the path leading out of the forest. If he must, he would run the first chance he got, leaving behind the group he rescued. He fulfilled whatever debt he felt he owed them, and his mother's whereabouts would be no use to him in a cell anyways. Justifications after justifications popped up in his mind while his legs itched to move.

"Draco."

The call made Draco snap his eyes back to the Death Eater. Nott's face suddenly became serious. No traces of the previous amusement could be detected upon his pinched features.

"You're not going to go back peacefully, are you?" When Draco didn't reply, Nott frowned. "You do realize the implications of your escape, correct? Are you aware that your actions scream your betrayal to the Dark Lord?" The pale eyes narrowed with contempt toward the Weasleys. "You renounce the value of your pure blood to stand beside these worthless blood traitors?"

Draco glared stonily at his fellow Slytherin, annoyance flaring quickly despite the need for wariness. How could he explain, really? How could he make this boy realize that he would do anything to not only save his own skin, but also those of his family? This boy, who grew up without a mother and with a distant father, would never be able to understand Draco's position. "Nott…" he began.

"No, no." the Death Eater cut him off with a wave of a hand. "Do as you wish." As Draco's eyes widened in surprise, Nott grimaced and raised his left forearm, pushing back the sleeves of his robes to reveal the Dark Mark. "The Lord is calling; don't tell me you can't feel it?"

Draco did. The customary tingling associated with Voldemort's summoning could be felt all along his arm. Mirroring Nott's actions, he pushed up his sleeve to watch as the faded tattoo darkened to jet black, bringing more and more pain all the while. Gritting his teeth against the burning sensation, Draco looked back up at Nott, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. "Go run off to him, then," Draco said, his voice tense.

The pale blue eyes bore into Draco's gray ones, as if searching for something. Then, quickly, they jumped to the group behind him, lingering on the young muggle girl. His facial expression, so lively just a few minutes ago, was as still as a statue. "Will you come with me?" he asked.

Although the invitation surprised him, Draco smiled. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine first, Nott." When the Death Eater nodded, he continued. "Do you know what's become of my mother?"

Draco felt ridiculously satisfied when he saw shock on the other boy's face for once. For him to claim that he _knew_ Draco…

Watching him school his expression into a nonchalant one, Draco waited with baited breath for an answer.

"Of course I do. If I told you, would you come…"

"He's lying!"

The exclamation made both Draco and Nott jump. Turning around, Draco looked at the female Weasley in amazement. The girl stood rigid, an expression of fury on her face.

"How would you _know_, you filthy little shite, what happened to his mother? I remember _clearly_ putting you down first! You were knocked out cold, so how would you know?"

Now, despite the circumstances, Draco couldn't help but laugh. It was a bitter, ragged laugh that masked the disappointment that had become such a familiar feeling lately. He believed the Weasley girl; Nott didn't know where his mother was.

Ignoring the looks of surprise thrown at him, he turned to look at Nott. "You are so confident of your superiority, Nott, and yet you were bested by a _Weasley_? A younger Weasley? Did you know their family was probably too poor to afford proper wands?"

Nott narrowed his eyes at him. "You've made your decision, then. You really are choosing _them_ over everything you've ever believed in?"

Draco shook his head slowly, suddenly serious. "I'm not choosing them, and I'm not choosing Voldemort."

"You _can't_ do that!" Nott practically snarled. He winced and grabbed his left forearm. Draco flinched as well. Voldemort's summoning was touching the border of agony. "We are at war, Draco. You're either with them or us. Gather your wits and come with me."

"No." Draco answered, bluntly.

"Alright," Nott said. With labored breath and trembling arms, he pulled out his wand. "Alright," he repeated. Before Draco could shift into a defensive stance, Nott called out, "I'll see you later, then, mate." With a sudden unexpected smile, the Death Eater turned and disapparated.

O_O

Draco stared at the spot where the thin wizard stood just a second ago. Now, not even an indent on the grass signified that anyone once stood there at all. He wasn't quite sure what went on in Nott's head, but for once, the uncertainty did not faze him. As far as he knew, he was free to leave his prison in the manor, free to go search for his mother, and free to figure out a way to rescue his father. A surge of joy swept through him so rapidly and violently that it successfully dulled the pain caused by the Dark Mark.

"Did he…did he just let us go?"

The uncertain voice of Ron Weasley brought Draco's emotions back under control. It was not without disappointment and a slight twinge of weariness when he turned to face the small group of redheads.

The first thing that caught his eyes was the injured twin, sitting slumped against a tree. The pale skin shown almost ethereally white and was stained disturbingly with a large amount of blood. Tattered and ripped clothing hung on his thin frame by mere strands, doing very little to cover the amount of lashes distributed all across the torso. Red-rimmed eyes looked back at Draco in a defensive glare.

"You don't look too well," Draco commented. He raised an eyebrow in amusement when the Weasley snorted in reply and hissed in pain immediately afterward.

"Of course he isn't well," the female Weasley scoffed, although worry was largely evident in her tone. She hurriedly bent down to her brother's side, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Those bastards tortured him."

"Yes, I can see that." Draco watched the rise and fall of the bloodied chest, taking note of any irregularities. "Judging from Voldemort's absence from the manor and what I've heard, you told them everything they wanted to know." When no one denied him, Draco continued, "As much as I despise your lot, I figured you wouldn't break under some torture." For once, Draco's words held no venom. Instead, he sounded almost conversational as he continued his study of the injured Weasley.

"_He_ didn't give anything away!" Draco watched as Potter's sidekick stepped toward him in anger. The redhead stopped suddenly though, and gave a sheepish glance toward the other twin.

Draco noticed and glanced at the older wizard himself. Technically speaking, this twin looked well, if not somewhat dirty and worn. However, a closer inspection of his face revealed a suffering that Draco believed could surpass even his own. "You're George, correct?"

The twin returned his gaze steadily, giving Draco full view of the anguish fermenting behind the blue orbs. He had always been adept at reading expressions and emotions, and it took very little for Draco to understand what the other was feeling. After giving him a slight nod, Draco broke the gaze to look around at their surroundings.

"We should rest here for the night." The choice was not ideal, but it was clear that the other twin, Fred, wasn't likely to move anytime soon. He hoped whatever Voldemort wanted kept the Death Eaters occupied for long enough. "We'll have two on watch at all times, in case Nott comes back. Once everyone is rested, we'll follow the path out of the forest and hopefully to civilization. From there, you Weasleys can try to contact your family or the Order…if any of them are still alive." Ignoring the feeling that the last bit was quite unnecessary and cruel, Draco shrugged off the bag that Pansy had given him and opened it to rummage through its contents. "There is a place where you can wash yourselves a few meters that way," Draco gestured vaguely to his right. "Frankly, you all reek and I'd rather not live through the smell in the next few days. I understand you lot are accustomed to filth, being dirt poor as you are, but it wouldn't help if I passed out from the stench coming off you. Ah," Draco pulled out a silk pouch roughly the size of a hand from the bag and tossed it on the ground ahead of him. "Soap. Please use it."

The female Weasley went to stand a couple of feet in front of him, squinting into his eyes. Draco raised his eyebrows when the girl placed both hands on her hips and leaned toward him. "We're in this together, you insufferable git, and this would be much easier if we all lay aside the unpleasantness until we're all out of this mess. How about it? Hmm?" She gestured with a hand toward herself as well as her brothers. "I'm Ginny. That's Ron, George, and Fred. You're Draco. No more Weasley and no more Malfoy. Let's put this family stuff behind us…for now."

"Ginny." Potter's sidekick spoke up, rolling his eyes and sneering at Draco. "You give him too much credit. He wouldn't know how to be civil even if his life depended on it. In fact," he took a step toward Draco, drawing himself up to his fullest height. "I say we're better off without him now. I see the path, and there's water all around us. We don't need him."

It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "Call off your attack dog, _Ginny_. Actually, it will be my absolute pleasure to comply with your wishes." He gracefully bent down to scoop up the soap and offered it to the girl with an exaggerated bow. His heart lurched slightly in excitement when he did not feel his wound give even the smallest twinge of pain. "If it so pleases you, there is a pond nearby in which you may wash yourselves from the grime of our journey. Or, if you rather, I could make a path of scented roses so that your precious feet need not touch this soil upon which we meager men humbly walk on? Oh yes, that sounds most appropriate. May I be excused so I can start on it right away, _Ginny_?"

Ginny curled her lips in disgust, turning up her nose at him. She snatched the soap from him, grabbed Sophie's small hand, and stalked off in the direction Draco had pointed earlier with a huff. Sophie had to run to catch up with her, else she trip and fall in her haste.

The pond wasn't far, and Draco did not think it possible for them to get lost so he decided not to call them back. Instead, he glanced at Ron, who was still glaring at him near his station at his injured brother's side. "Well, _Ron_, I believe Nott never did answer my question of whether he was alone. If you want to guarantee your sister's safety, go past those bushes there and circle around all the trees with those blue blossoms. Those trees mark the border of the pond. If you see someone, you may fight them if you want, or you may come back here and alert us."

Ron glanced at Fred and George, and then crossed his arms. "I won't take orders from you, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "Alright, then."

He fastened the clasp on the bag, shouldered it, and walked without another glance at the Weasleys toward the clump of bushes he had mentioned. It was quite thick and tall – it grew a little past his waist – and it gave him pause. However, encouraged by his wound's lack of pain earlier, he placed one hand upon its top and vaulted over the bushes without feeling any discomfort. Silently marveling at the effectiveness of the bandages, Draco headed deeper into the forest, making sure to keep the border of blue-blossomed trees to his right. Steps silent even upon the forest floor, his eyes swept across his surroundings, pausing at anything that seemed suspicious.

A few minutes into his journey, he became aware of footsteps behind him. The intruder was by no means attempting to be silent and so did not cause him alarm. Draco stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

It was George, the twin who had given out information about the Order. Somehow, Draco was not surprised to see him. The older wizard stopped when he saw Draco looking at him and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"Do you need something?" Draco asked, keeping his tone polite.

George held his gaze for a moment, and then looked away and down. "You said there should be two on watch." He jerked his head back the way he had come. "Ron's looking after Fred."

Whether it was from the subdued tone or the fact that this Weasley wanted to follow his orders, Draco was shocked. From what he had seen and heard of the infamous Weasley twins, he would never have thought any of them to act like this. He never could imagine any of them so listless and despondent and…obedient.

"Okay," Draco said after he had regained his composure. He resumed his walk, gesturing at the other to follow. "I'm making a circuit around the pond and back opposite the place where we'll be camping for tonight. The sun will set in about…" he glanced up and found the sun past the tangle of branches. "…five hours. We should be back before then. If we meet someone, I'll take care of it. You'll keep on the lookout for any back up."

The twin did not answer but instead kept up pace to Draco's left. From time to time, Draco would glance at him from the corner of his eyes, and each time, he would see the same thing: head down, eyes glued to the ground, messy red hair covering the face, hands in pockets. Draco raised his eyes heavenward but left the other to his wallowing.

The pair walked silently along the path Draco had chosen. Although it was the middle of summer, the heat was not intense. Along with large patches of shade provided by myriad trees, there was a pleasant breeze glancing against their skins, giving them a much needed break from the dustiness of the secret tunnel. Birds began to chirp as they realized the wizards were not a threat to them or their homes. Any other animals, if any did live in this forest, hid themselves, and to Draco, it seemed as if they were the only ones walking the grounds among the trees.

Draco glanced at Weasley again and found himself staring into surprisingly clear blue eyes. There was none of the misery or guilt that Draco had seen before. It seemed as if he had finally pulled himself together.

"Stop that," George said, lifting his head and frowning at Draco.

"Stop what?" Draco asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Looking at me." When Draco snorted in reply, George gave a slight smirk. Here, his entire appearance seemed to change and now Draco could see the annoying prankster who had both annoyed and delighted others with his mischief at Hogwarts. "My little brother hates you. Harry does too. I've never questioned their judgments, since I see you as nothing but a self-serving, snobby brat, myself."

"I will not hold it against you, as I know you Weasleys are quite myopic in everything excluding the Golden Boy and Dumble…" Draco cut himself off.

George's eyes caught the blond's hands clenching into fists and watched silently as his back tensed and the usually light gray eyes harden into steel. "Touchy subject, Dumbledore, is it? Feeling guilty, Malfoy? You did kill him."

_I did _not_ kill him, _was the first thought that came to mind, but he did not voice it. Instead, Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "You would've done the same." When the other sneered in contempt, Draco gestured back to the campsite. "Was it not you who gave up information regarding your Order? Was it not you who allowed Voldemort and his Death Eaters to storm into your base?" With every word he spoke, Weasley became more and more distressed, but Draco could not stop. "Was it not you who gave up everything to save your brother? You betrayed your own dear Order, your precious Potter and Dumbledore, because you couldn't stand to see him hurt."

"Yes," George spoke up, putting an end to Draco's tirade. "I betrayed them all. I…I needed to save him. They were going to kill him if I didn't let them use legilimency on me. Fred…he would never let down his shields. He'd never give them what they wanted. Ginny and Ron weren't given the coordinates, so I was the only one who could save him."

"And I needed to save my parents," Draco replied gently. The coldness that always accompanied any thoughts about Dumbledore was gone and was replaced with a strange feeling of pity. Here was someone who had faced a decision similar to his own, and despite the feud between their families, Draco could still find it in himself to sympathize with the other. Besides, he had renounced his family's loyalty to the Dark Lord and his belief of pureblood supremacy. How hard was it to give up a feud? They were all simply trying to survive this war.

George glanced sharply at him, surprised by Draco's tone. Then, he narrowed his eyes. "Don't try to convince me to tell you what happened to your mum. You're getting us out of here first."

Draco laughed. A real, amused laugh. It was the first time he had freely laughed in a long while and it surprised him as well as the twin. "We'll be out of here by tomorrow. Like I said before, this forest isn't that big. We could actually leave today, if only…" Once again, Draco gestured toward the campsite.

George nodded. "Fred," he said.

"Yes." Draco looked around them. "I don't think there's anyone else here but us. Good for us, but could be a bad thing for your friends back home." Seeing George grimace, Draco shrugged. "Don't worry about them. The Order is strong; otherwise Voldemort would've attacked in earnest when I let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. There's a reason why he was cautious. Even without Dumbledore, he knows he has to be careful against you people. I doubt any recent attacks will destroy them completely."

Once again George looked at him in surprise, but Draco ignored it. Here he was, comforting a Weasley. What would Father think if he saw him now? Would he be livid? Annoyed? Struck speechless? For some odd reason, Draco felt slightly satisfied.

"Why Malfoy," George began, smiling in mirth. "You seem to be a whole new person. This new person is much more to my taste. I shall call this new person Draco, and you shall call me George, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We will call a truce for now, Weasley. As of right now, I am the enemy of both sides of this war, and your words may mean the difference between my continued freedom and another cell at the other side."

"Who is this Weasley you are talking to? I believe I already told you my name is George."

"Yes, whatever. We should continue the circuit and head back to camp."

Just when the pair resumed their walk, Draco heard a crash in the direction from which they came, followed by a muffled voice and running footsteps. He glanced at George, who stared incredulously in the direction of the sound. "A Death Eater, you think?" he asked.

Draco frowned. "I don't think so. We are no longer under the manor's anti-apparation wards. Death Eaters have wands, so they would apparate to us. They wouldn't run and allow us to hear them coming." When he said the word "ward," a niggle of confusion wormed its way into his head although he did not know why. Concentrating, he turned the word over and over in his mind, thinking back to the long list of wards the manor contained to try to trigger the right answer.

His efforts were interrupted when a panicked Ron Weasley appeared among the trees, running as fast as he could toward them. When he saw his brother, George ran to meet him. Draco followed at a slower pace, his thoughts still bothering him.

"George!" Ron exclaimed. His eyes were wide and terrified. "I-I-I don't think…Fred…he-he started coughing up blood! I don't know what it means, and I don't know what to do."

With that, George cursed and started running back to the campsite faster than Draco thought possible. Ron followed his brother without even a glance at Draco, clutching his sides in obvious pain and gasping in exhaustion.

Draco frowned. Coughing up blood? With him having so many cuts, both shallow and deep, in his chest and back? Draco sighed. The poor sod may have gotten an infection. Out here in the forest, with no wand or access to his potion supplies, an infection is deadly and there's really no point in running back as the outcome would be the same regardless.

Just then, Draco remembered his own wound, and the idea that popped into his mind almost immediately afterward was not something that he was happy about. Actually, he was quite disgusted with himself for thinking it up in the first place.

"Well, fuck." he sighed, and began to run back to camp.


	9. Part I: Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings: **Language

**Chapter 9**

He was still running.

Dodging branches and jumping over bushes and exerting no effort in keeping his footsteps quiet, Draco ran. Again and again his feet hit the forest floor, breaking twigs and scattering alarmed insects. Draco hadn't realized just how far he and George had traveled. It seemed as if he was following the backs of Ron and George Weasley for quite awhile, and the brothers showed no signs of slowing down.

The stitches in his side screamed at him to stop and rest, but Draco pushed on. Why? Well, it wasn't because of some newfound worry he suddenly felt for Fred Weasley. He did not know this Weasley. He was a stranger, just another wizard. He had barely spoken ten words to the bloke in his lifetime. No, he could care less, really, whether or not the boy lived. Really.

No. Draco had come up with a plan. Not an elaborate plan, but a plan regardless. A plan that should work in his favor for once. And if, on the course of his plan, he helped someone from Death's door, then well, he needed all the good karma he could get anyways. He still had no true idea of the exact damage he had caused when he unleashed the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but there is a part of him that wanted to make up for his choices. A small part, almost nonexistent, but it was there.

When he heard George exclaim his brother's name, Draco knew they had arrived. He vaulted over that damned bush – his body was protesting quite indignantly – and headed over to the group surrounding the injured Weasley, who was currently coughing into his hands, splattering them with bright spots of blood.

Draco paused and took stock of the situation. George knelt concernedly near his brother, patting his back as if he believed his twin was choking on something. Ron stood off to the side, face contorted in both alarm and worry. Ginny leaned against a tree nearby and stared grimly at her coughing brother, her hair still wet from her wash. Sophie sat at her feet with hands over her ears and her eyes staring horrified at the blood. So much blood.

When the coughing finally subsided, Fred looked up and gazed sheepishly at everyone staring at him. "I'm alright," he muttered weakly.

"Bullshit," Ginny answered. The girl was angry, angrier than Draco had ever seen her. "Damned bastards," Draco heard her mutter under her breath.

"You think you can endure it until we get out of here, Fred?" Ron asked. When Fred nodded his head, Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right." He paused and looked around at his family. "Sorry," he said quietly. "If I hadn't gotten captured, you guys wouldn't be here right now, and Fred would be-"

"Shut up, Ron," Fred said, although he smiled. "You gave us an excuse to leave that damned boring place. Ginny wasn't supposed to come, but you know how stubborn she can be. We didn't figure out she was following us until we arrived."

Just then, Draco realized what had been bothering him earlier – about the wards. Something Severus had mentioned…about a change in the wards requiring the presence of a Dark Mark to enter and leave the manor. While he could explain how the Weasleys left the manor – they left through a secret escape route, after all – he wondered how they managed to enter the manor and make it all the way to the cellar. Help from inside, perhaps?

Draco shook his head. It didn't really matter. There was something else much more important to him, and he was confident he would get it.

He saw Ginny opening her mouth to retort, but cut her off. "You probably developed an infection. Without anything to treat it with, the infection will spread and you'll die." Alright, a bit blunt, but he didn't really practice his speech while in captivity. Especially with his tongue cut off and all.

The reactions to his words weren't surprising, to say the least. Three Weasleys advanced toward him angrily, eyes narrowed, and fists clenched. Ron spoke first. "He's _not_ going to die, you git. We'll just have to get him out of here sooner."

Before anyone else can add to his comment, Draco held up a hand. "I can help him."

The reactions to those four words were quite comical and Draco couldn't help but smirk. Identical looks of surprise, then hope, then doubt passed through freckled faces. Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back, relaxed. Hoping for a nonchalant look, he gazed at each of the Weasleys in turn, then settled on the one he had been bonding with not twenty minutes ago. "If you help me first." He smiled.

He caught the look of disgust on Ginny's face, and although Ron looked annoyed, he did not seem surprised. George peered at him seriously. "You want to know where your mother is," he said, not even bothering to turn it into a question.

Draco nodded once. "Yes." He gestured toward Fred, who was leaning back against the tree, wheezing out wet sounding breaths. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll help your brother."

Ginny scowled. "Typical Malfoy," she muttered. She exchanged glances with her brothers before looking back at Fred. Seeing him, she nodded her head, having made her decision. She looked at Ron and George to confirm and when they nodded, she turned to Draco. "Fine. We'll tell you. Go help him."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Tell me where she is first. I'll help afterward."

Ron snorted. "We don't trust you, Malfoy. We'll tell you once we're sure Fred will be okay."

Draco contemplated the siblings for a few silent minutes. He didn't blame them for their suspicion. Hell, trusting a Slytherin could be one of the most stupid moves one could make. However, he didn't want to come out the worse from this deal. Still, they were Gryffindors. They wouldn't go back on their words, would they? They were stubborn, too. Draco didn't have the time or energy to convince them to tell him what he wanted to know first.

Draco shrugged. "Fine," he said shortly. He made his way to the injured twin, dropping gracefully down next to him when he came near. Fred opened his eyes and stared at him.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else? Or just your chest and back?" Draco asked.

Fred shook his head no. He licked his dry, cracked lips before opening his mouth to speak. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Take off your shirt."

Fred smirked. "Why, Malfoy. I didn't know you were into blokes." He winked. Well, tried to. "Or me. But of course, I'm not surprised."

"Hardly," Draco replied, not amused. "Do it, or I'll cut it off you."

"Cut it?"

Draco gestured toward the bag that Pansy had packed. "There's a small knife in there." When Fred narrowed his eyes, Draco raised his eyebrows. "What? Afraid I'll slit your throats when you Weasleys fall asleep?" Draco tugged at the bottom of Fred's torn shirt. "Come on. Off. If I wanted to kill you Weasleys, I wouldn't have let you out your cage."

When Fred grudgingly sat up and made to lift up his shirt, Ginny made a noise of protest. She ran over to help him. "You're making your injuries worse," she scolded.

Once the ruined shirt was off, the group fell silent, taking in the seriousness of Fred's wounds. "Shit," Draco said. "They really fucked you up."

Fred scowled. "You helping me or not, Malfoy?"

Draco pursed his lips at the disrespectful tone but shrugged it aside. When he started unbuttoning his own shirt, Ginny glared at him. "_What_ are you doing?"

Draco smiled sweetly at her. "I'm helping your brother, Ginny." He glanced at Ron. "Your brother was right before; I did get…punished recently and had a serious wound. You said it was two days ago?" After Ron's nod, Draco continued, "Now, I don't feel anything at all. Like it never even happened. I figured these bandages," he gestured down at the bandages now that he had finished unfastening all of the buttons. "accelerated the healing process. I think they'll work quickly on your brother; there are a lot of cuts, but they're pretty shallow."

When he started to unfasten the small clip near his hip, a small hand gripped his wrist to stop him. "No!" Sophie exclaimed, clearly distressed. "He said to not ever take it off!"

Draco stared at her. "Who said?"

Her large eyes wrinkled in confusion for a bit, then she shrugged. "I don't 'member," she mumbled.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco continued unwrapping the bandages. "I'm fine now," he reassured her. Then, he turned toward Fred, holding up the clean white bandages, trying not to think about why in the world he would want to reassure the muggle at all. "Here. Wrap yourself."

Ginny had no trouble rolling her eyes and grabbed the wad from his hands. She looked at it curiously for a moment. "It's like it's not even used. It's shimmering."

"Yes. So magical. Put it on him and tell me what I want know."

Ginny glared at him, though she looked more exasperated then annoyed. While she busied herself with wrapping the bandages around her brother, she contemplated on what to tell him. Draco caught the expression on her face and narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare leave anything out, _Ginny_. I did my part."

The girl did not answer him until Fred was completely wrapped up and comfortable. "Will you still…help us out of here?" Her voice was grudging, but surprisingly vulnerable and uncertain.

Draco shrugged uncaringly. "Sure. I don't mind the extra baggage unless it slows me down. Your brother here has already slowed me down considerably, but you're lucky I'm so patient."

Ron sighed, as if a huge burden had suddenly fallen on his shoulders. Plopping down near Fred, he gave Ginny a look and grimaced. "Well, after you refused to kill anyone…" Ron hesitated. "Thanks for that, by the way." He looked at Draco uncomfortably but when the blond gave no reaction, he shrugged and continued. "Anyways, just as you were about to faint, these idiots came crashing through the door, threw some sort of explosive and started hexing everyone they saw. It probably took about five seconds until You-Know-Who captured them and threw them down in the prison with your mother and me. We didn't see what happened to you or Sophie."

Draco said nothing. He waited somewhat impatiently for the redhead to get to the part he was actually interested in.

"They left us there for a few hours until You-Know-Who came and, er…got his information. When he left, one of the Death Eaters that had come with him gave Fred a blood-replenishing potion and took your mother with him. She wouldn't leave at first, but he said something to her that made her agree to go." Ron shrugged again. "We couldn't hear what he said to her, but she did leave willingly."

Draco waited several seconds and when Ron did not say another word, a crashing disappointment swept through him. It was a close thing he didn't wilt from it. "That's it?" Draco asked. When Ron nodded, Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, good Merlin, Ron. That was so helpful; I truly don't believe I've done enough to deserve it."

Ron scowled. "Sod off, Malfoy. And don't call me Ron," he added, almost petulantly.

"Damn it, Weasleys. I should've known better. I should've known you Weasleys will never have anything useful."

When the other did not reply, Draco looked up toward the sky and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. He wanted to scream and shout and hit something. He wanted to let out his anger and disappointment. Nothing ever worked out for him. He was still not one step closer to reuniting with his mother, let alone his father.

Feeling a gentle tug on the pocket of his trousers, Draco peered down to see the small muggle looking at him uncertainly. "What?" he asked, his tone short.

The girl's bottom lip trembled but she pursed them and gave his trousers a stronger tug, as if to show her reproach. "Where is _my _mum?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Ron Weasley give a small wince and was able to judge what had become of the girl's mother from the redhead's expression. "She's probably with my mother," Draco said, still looking at the other wizard's freckled face. The blue eyes were sorrowful and for once, held no trace of animosity toward Draco. The girl's mother was dead.

It was war, it was suffering, and it was death. Childhood grudges were insignificant compared to that burden.

Sophie frowned. "We find them now?"

Ginny came up and pulled the girl toward her, ruffling her hair playfully. "We will. We need to go somewhere safe first." She smiled encouragingly and when Sophie returned the gesture, Ginny turned to Draco. Her expression turned stony. "So. We'll stay here for the night, and tomorrow we'll be out of this forest?"

Raising his eyebrows, Draco nodded. "If your brother can catch up with us, yes."

The girl nodded, then pursed her lips. "Alright, but what will we do about food? They didn't feed us today and I'm sure you didn't think to pack anything even though I quite clearly remembering us exiting through the kitchen."

Draco glared at her. "I wouldn't know where they keep the food in the kitchen, _Ginny_. We have house elves prepare our food like all decent wizards." Once the words were out of his mouth, Draco instantly regretted them. _Had_, he corrected himself silently. _We had house elves._

George stepped up close to Draco, causing the blond to take a startled step back. The older wizard looked at him with excited eyes. "House elves? But that's great! They can help us! Summon one and they will be able to apparate us out of here!"

Ginny and Ron perked up visibly, both wearing expressions of hesitant hope. On the other hand, Fred was fast asleep, finally passed out from the long trek he had endured in his state.

Draco ran a hand through his hair again, although more resigned than frustrated at this point. "They're gone. All of them. Dead." He whispered the last word, but the Weasleys heard it clearly. Their hopes were dashed in a second.

Ginny regarded him silently for a few minutes. When she spoke, her voice was kind, but unsure. "Sorry, Malfoy." She bit her lip and sighed. "Draco. I don't know how you felt toward your house elves, but I'm sorry nonetheless."

Draco made a noncommittal noise and turned away. "Get some rest. We'll settle with water for now and will hopefully find food once we leave this place. I'll take first watch." Determined not to look at any of the Weasleys, he walked toward another tree a small distance away from the group. The tree had a broad, flat side, which Draco was thankful for as he sat and leaned against it wearily.

With slight annoyance, he saw that Sophie had followed him and was now sitting quietly at his side. Her strawberry blonde hair hung flat in wet clumps and dripped water onto his boots. Somewhat exasperated, he let it go and allowed his eyes to drift closed but kept his attention sharp for any suspicious sounds.

Was it only this morning that he had awakened in his cell? They had spent the greater part of the day traveling through the secret tunnel, with nothing but water to fill their stomachs. Draco let out a groan at the thought of food, cursing himself for not bringing anything edible and the fact that a Weasley had reminded him of that vital necessity for survival. They had passed the bloody kitchens, for goodness sake. Fucking hell, he couldn't do anything right.

Denying the fact that he was uncharacteristically moping, he sat up abruptly, causing Sophie to jerk a little in surprise. He wondered what Severus would do in his position. Would he have made the same choices as Draco? Would he have released the Weasleys from their prison? Draco scowled, resulting in a curious glance from Sophie.

Here he was, wondering whether he could be like Severus, the man who had murdered the headmaster right in front of him. Draco had a suspicion that it had been the potions master taking his mother from the cell. No other Death Eater but his father would convince Narcissa to follow them anywhere. The man worked for Voldemort, and Draco sure as hell was no longer working for Voldemort. He shouldn't look up to Severus anymore, right? He was the enemy now. He would be aiming to kill him now.

Draco sighed. Even as he thought it, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Severus wanted him dead. He had encouraged him to escape, for Merlin's sake. Sullenly, Draco decided that he knew too little about the man to make a correct guess about his true alliance. He sure looked uncaring enough when he spoke the spell that sent Dumbledore to his death. The memory of the night brought an unpleasant jolt that ran across his entire body.

Shaking his head as if to remove all his musings, Draco eased the familiar fog to cloud his mind. He was rational with the fog, more practical, precise, and focused. He didn't need the worry, the doubts, and the fear to distract him. He was still in danger, and he needed every amount of skill he had accumulated in the Death Eaters' games to stay alive.

O_O

"Is he asleep?"

Night had fallen, and with the disappearance of the sun came a chill in the wind. Despite it being the middle of summer, Ginny found herself shivering. She looked over at Ron, who had asked the question, and shrugged. "Why would it matter? It's his turn to sleep and our turn to keep watch." She turned to look at the pale, blond wizard and smiled when she saw that Sophie was curled up next to him, both of them fast asleep. "That is adorable."

Ron's face changed from curious to revolted so quickly that Ginny snorted in laughter. "Come on, even you have to admit the git looks a bit like an angel."

Ron looked at his sister in horror. "I will admit no such thing! Malfoy is a ferret and will always be a ferret."

Ginny nodded and laughed. She gazed at the blond head, suddenly solemn. "Why'd you think he rescued us? He's the last person I would think to let us go. Well, Voldemort is, but you know what I mean."

Ron scowled. "He didn't _rescue_ us. It was convenient for him; he wanted to know about his mother. Malfoy wouldn't have saved us if we didn't offer him anything in return."

"I'm not defending Draco or anything," Ginny said, glancing at her brother from the corners of her eyes. "But we didn't say anything about his mother until we were in the secret tunnel."

"So what? Because he unlocked our cell, we should forgive him for everything he's done? His dad almost killed you in your first year!"

Ginny shrugged. "Whatever, Ron." She sounded tired. "I'm just saying that we should work together for now, _without_ any old grudges. He saved Fred, after all. And you must admit, the information we gave him was useless."

Ron scowled. "We told him she was alive. That's enough."

"It wouldn't be enough if I was in his position," Ginny mumbled, glancing at the blond again. "He wanted to know where she is, and we couldn't give that to him. I kinda feel bad…leading him on like that, making him think we knew more than we did." Even in sleep, the Slytherin looked guarded. His body appeared tense, not slouched comfortably like Ginny knew all normal people slept. A small furrow between his eyebrows suggested a bad dream and he unconsciously shifted, putting a greater distance between Sophie and him. Ginny suppressed a giggle when the little girl frowned slightly in her sleep at the loss of warmth.

"Stop staring at him," Ginny heard Ron grumble.

Grinning, she turned to him and raised her eyebrows, wiping anymore thoughts about Malfoy from her mind. "So what'll you do once we're out of here? Are you gonna go find Harry and Hermione?"

The look on her brother's face made her slightly guilty for asking, but his answer surprised her. "What's the point? It's not like they need me."

Ginny bit her bottom lip at his bitter tone. "Was that why you left them? You felt useless?" When Ron didn't answer, annoyance sparked within her. "And so you just decided to go off and kill Voldemort _on your own_?"

Her annoyance instantly abated when Ron groaned and rubbed vigorously at his face. "I know, I know. It was stupid. To be honest, I don't know why I left them…I don't know why I felt so angry…" Ron trailed off, staring at his hands with a befuddled expression on his face.

Ginny grimaced in sympathy. "Jealous much, brother?"

"Of Harry? No." Ron shook his head vigorously. He stopped when he caught Ginny's disbelieving look. "Maybe," he sighed. "I tell myself not to be, but it's hard when I always see them together. I know he has a thing for you, but…it's not like you're a couple _right now_. I think I-I love her, but what if she prefers Harry? I want to tell her how I feel, but I'm scared of how she might answer. I want her, I really do, but I want her to be happy."

Just as Ginny opened her mouth to respond, an unexpected voice joined their conversation. "That's a lot of 'but's' there, Weasley. I didn't take you as the insecure type."

The two redheads swirled to look at Draco, who hadn't moved from his position but was staring at them with narrowed gray eyes. Ginny smiled at the look of annoyance on his face. Ron, on the other hand, paled when he realized that his childhood enemy had just heard him pouring his heart out. "Fuck off, Malfoy," Ron muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Even in the dimness of the night, Ginny could make out the blond rolling his eyes. "I imagine any chances you have of winning Granger now is very slim after you left her. You can possibly salvage your relationship with her if you can get to her soon enough, which," Draco smirked. "I highly doubt."

Fully expecting her brother to lash out in anger, Ginny was surprised to see him slump in dejection instead. She glared accusingly at the Slytherin when Ron didn't bother to say anything in retaliation. However, her glare went unnoticed as she watched the blond gaze sternly at Ron, his expression growing more exasperated with each passing second. Finally, he scowled. "I wasn't serious, you dumb weasel. How the hell should I know how Granger's mind works? If she was patient enough to put off with your shite in the past, I doubt you running away from her would completely kill your chances with her."

This time, both Ron and Ginny stared incredulously at Malfoy. Draco returned their looks uncomfortably, as if suddenly aware of the words that had come out of his mouth. He grimaced and turned away. "Because she must be used to it," he mumbled, hurriedly. "Blokes running away from her…" When the siblings' expressions didn't change, his own expression became impatient. "Go to sleep," he said shortly. "I'll take the last watch. I'll wake you weasels up in a few hours."

Ginny exchanged a glance with her brother and shrugged, slouching down gratefully upon the tall grass. Allowing herself a huge, jaw-splitting yawn, she gazed up at the night sky speckled numerously with twinkling stars and fancied that she could trace a lightning bolt among a bright cluster. Day-dreaming about a certain green-eyed hero, she easily fell back asleep.

Ron, conversely, laid awake on the ground, unable to sleep. Instead, his eyes were on Malfoy's unsuspecting form, his face calculating and thoughtful. _Perhaps_, the redhead mused. _Perhaps he deserves a chance._ Just then, the old taunting song played itself in his mind.

"_Weasley is our king_

_Weasley is our king_

_He always let the quaffle in_

_Weasley is our king."*_

Ron scowled. _No, fuck it. The ferret can go burn in hell._

O_O

*Written by J.K. Rowling in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.


	10. Part I: Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** Violence, language

**Chapter 10**

"Does this forest go on _forever_?"

The disgruntled tone only served to further annoy the other tired members of the group. Everyone was exhausted, sweaty, and hungry, and conversation was stilted between them.

Offended at being ignored, Fred tugged on Draco's sleeve. "How much longer?"

Draco shot the Weasley a dirty look. "We'll be there soon," he said through gritted teeth. The prat had been grating on his nerves since early this morning. The wizard, who was almost comatose not five hours ago, was now nearly his old self and insisted on trying to start up a conversation with Draco every half hour. _Fucking hell,_ Draco thought grumpily. _This Weasel is worse than the muggle._

Sophie, to Draco's relief, seemed to sense his desire to be left alone. She had spent most of the journey near Ginny, chattering brightly about things only she found interesting. The few times she had strayed to Draco's side, she simply grasped the pocket of his trousers and walked in companionable silence next to him.

Draco heard Ginny groan from where she was walking a few steps behind him. "You said that an hour ago! It's past noon, we've been walking for hours, and we had nothing to eat since…two days ago! Water only fills you up for five minutes. How about poor Sophie? A child's got to eat!"

The blond heaved a big sigh but didn't bother to reply. Ever since he woke up early this morning to relieve the Weasleys from their watch, he had been uneasy. Of course, that nightmare that caused him to awake just in time to hear Ron's pathetic whining didn't help either.

Involuntarily, his fists clenched at the memory of the dream, of that moment in the cellar when he was forced to choose between his life and four others, his mother being one of them. Draco absently rubbed his middle at the phantom pain of the sword ripping through his body. If the twins and the girl didn't interrupt with their foolish attempt of rescue, he could be dead right now. Or maybe his mother would be dead. Draco grimaced. He didn't want to think about that right now.

Just then, a break in the trees appeared in front of him. Draco stopped and stared at it, slightly dumbstruck at the abrupt change in scenery. "We're at the edge," he announced to the trail of Weasleys behind him.

"Fucking hell, finally. What are you just standing there for? Let's go!" Fred moved past Draco, eager to see what was on the other side. "I can already smell the feast Mum will make for us. I swear, I can-"

He was cut off when he walked straight into something solid and staggered a few steps back. "The fuck?" he exclaimed, rubbing his nose, which had taken the brunt of the impact.

Draco blinked. Did the air in front of him just…shimmer? Slowly, he walked forward, the uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He reached out a hand, and sure enough, it was stopped by some kind of invisible wall. A barrier. Draco bit his lip, suddenly understanding why Nott had left them so easily. They were trapped. "Damn it," he whispered.

The rest of the group had gathered around him and was looking at him, waiting, expecting as if he knew the answer to this new problem. Draco never thought that Weasleys would be looking to him for the next move, but then he never thought he'd rescue them either. He sighed. "Alright," he started. "Let's follow this barrier and hopefully there will be a break somewhere." Although that might be unlikely, Draco knew it was a bad idea to lose hope, not when they were so close.

Everyone jumped when an unfamiliar voice called out to them. "Finally here, eh?"

Jumping down from a tree that they had just passed was, to Draco's slight amusement, yet another redhead. This one seemed older than the Weasleys around him and had the appearance of someone battle-hardened. Despite the heavily muscled chest and arms, his overall look seemed friendly, especially with the mass of freckles that covered his face.

Ginny's squeal made Draco's ear ache, and as the rest of the Weasleys ran up to their brother, the blond stayed behind with Sophie.

"Charlie? How'd you find us?" Ron's voice was overly excited, his weariness replaced with glee.

Charlie shrugged, grinning at the expressions on his siblings' faces. "Received some message from a patronus a day ago. You shoulda seen Mum and Dad; they were dead set on getting you idiots back. I think Kingsley was forced to stun them, otherwise they would disobey orders and be here instead of me." He narrowed his eyes and inspected the bandages peeking through from the numerous holes of Fred's shirt. "Damn, I'm glad you're all alive…" For a second, his expression showed all of the worry and stress he experienced in the past couple of days.

For the next few minutes, he didn't get a chance to say anything else as his family rushed to hug him all at once. He joined in their laughter and teasing, reveling in the attention of his brothers and sister, all of whom had been believed to be dead by nearly all in the Order.

Draco looked away from the reunion, glancing at Sophie before looking at the shimmering wall behind them. A distance away was the beginning of rolling green hills, spotted at places with copses of trees. A glint of gray hinted a muggle railing, so there was a possibility of a road stretching nearby. Whether the road led to a muggle city or the middle of nowhere, Draco had no idea. His eyes roamed the field, although he had no idea what he was looking for. Perhaps Theodore Nott? Maybe he was waiting for them in ambush? Draco really didn't want to be back under the mercy of the Dark Lord.

Suddenly, the same phantom pain as before returned in his middle, causing him to wince. He gently rubbed at the spot and sighed. Really, spending so much time in his head was not healthy.

Bringing his attention back to the situation at hand, the blond realized that it was silent and there were no more sounds of a Weasley celebration near him. Looking back, he saw the entire family staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer. He blinked, suddenly uncomfortable with all the eyes trained on him. "What?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, but it was Fred who answered him. "I said, you're coming with us, right? Charlie's got a portkey to a safehouse near the new headquarters."

Ginny nodded, strolling a few steps to grasp Sophie's hand firmly. "You and Sophie can stay with us. We can't really go back to school in September, but I'm sure we can find something to do."

Although the prospect of living in close proximity to these Weasleys seemed daunting, Draco was relieved at the invitation. He figured he had better luck with wizards than with muggles in a strange town, even if these particular wizards hated his family.

He was halfway through nodding when several faraway flickers of movement behind the Weasleys caught his attention. Recognizing the black robes and specks of white masks, Draco widened his eyes and took an involuntary step backwards. His back hit the invisible wall with a small thump. "Death Eaters," he told the others. "Hurry, use the portkey!"

Charlie whipped his head back and seeing the figures moving toward them, he started fumbling in his pockets. "Right," he mumbled. "Everyone, grab on to each other. It'll activate immediately after I say the word."

Draco barely noticed Sophie's small hand gripping his wrist as he watched the incoming Death Eaters nervously. Why didn't they just apparate to their location? Why give them time to—

The loud crack of apparation filled the air when two Death Eaters appeared in the middle of the group, successfully separating Draco, Sophie, and Ginny from the rest of the Weasleys.

Cursing, he pushed the two girls down in order to avoid the sudden barrage of spells one of the black-cloaked wizards sent in their direction. His middle gave a sharp twinge as he dropped down himself, leaving him gasping for breath. Ignoring the unexpected pain as best as he could, he looked up to see the large Death Eater pointing his wand at him, and with a grunt, he managed to roll out of the way before a bright red light could hit him.

Amidst Sophie's screams and cries, Ginny could be seen crawling back slowly over to the little girl, trying her best not to get noticed. They had been separated when she copied Draco and rolled away from a couple of incoming curses. She glanced at the others and swore under her breath. Charlie dueled with one Death Eater while Draco evaded the other. She bit her bottom lip in worry when she saw Ron, Fred, and George turning to stare at the group of incoming Death Eaters. They were still a bit away, but they were coming fast. Being wandless, there was nothing they could do once the Death Eaters came upon them.

Finally grabbing Sophie's hands and squeezing it in what she hoped was a reassuring way, Ginny desperately tried to come up with a plan. She was the furthest away from Charlie compared to the rest of the group, with the two Death Eaters and Draco blocking the way. She watched the blond for a moment, slightly impressed that he had lasted this long against a wizard without a wand. The Slytherin never stood still, and it was really no wonder why none of the spells thrown at him found their target.

Charlie on the other hand, stood his ground, flinging spell after spell toward the other, more lean, Death Eater. She noticed with some relief when Charlie periodically sent spells deeper into the forest, inhibiting the other Death Eaters' progress.

A sudden yell of pain brought Ginny's attention back to Draco. Her eyes widened when she saw him on the ground, grabbing his stomach and obviously in pain. Her gaze shot to the fat Death Eater, who stood frozen, head cocked to the side as if he was confused.

The moment had cost him, however, when Charlie hastily aimed a stun spell that hit the wizard squarely at the back of his head. The Death Eater promptly fell to the ground, causing his partner to quicken his own spell-casting. The rapid movements of his arms suggested his growing panic as the other members in the forest took too long to arrive.

Ron and George took the opportunity to dash forward, dodging pass all of the flying spells and making their way toward the Death Eater. Covered by Charlie's shields, George reached out and grasped a black-sleeved arm that was in the middle of working up a spell, bending it awkwardly back. Ron caught the wizard's leg when he tried to kick them off. With difficulty, Ron pulled the leg back and dropped down with his knee digging into the Death Eater's neck when he fell flat on his back.

Ginny released Sophie's hand and ran to pick up the fat Death Eater's dropped wand, hoping that it would allow her to use it. When the wand did nothing but let out bright yellow sparks at her touch, Ginny smiled and sent a stun spell of her own toward the wizard thrashing violently underneath Ron.

Gripping the unfamiliar wand tightly, Ginny then ran to Charlie, who was currently trying to slow down the incoming Death Eaters. He was sweating profusely from the exertion of sending too many spells in too little time. Seeing her brother tiring, Ginny felt a growing panic inside her.

"Charlie! We have to leave _now_!" George's shout burst through Ginny's panic and stirred her into action. She grabbed Charlie's free arm and dragged him back closer to the others. Charlie never stopped throwing spells into the forest.

Fred supported Draco, who was slouched over, one arm covering his middle. What little could be seen of the Sytherin's face under his blond hair showed paler than usual skin. Sophie clung onto Draco's other side, tears still falling silently down her cheeks.

Just as Ginny and Charlie reached the others, a deafening crack once again interrupted them. This time, the rest of the Death Eaters had apparated to them once they noticed their teammates had fallen.

A well-aimed blasting charm scattered the Weasleys, Draco, and Sophie yet again. All of them hit the ground hard, allowing the Death Eaters to surround them without a problem. "Don't let them regroup!" A Death Eater called out. "They'll portkey out of here!"

Another Death Eater mumbled, "Oh for the love of…_accio_ portkey!"

Charlie let out a shout of frustration when a small, ornately decorated saucer jerked out of his hands and flew toward the Death Eater. A different Death Eater, one immediately behind Charlie, gave the redhead a vicious kick to his side. "One wrong move and we won't hesitate to hurt any of the others, you hear?"

Charlie, gasping from the blow, looked around desperately at his family. The expressions he saw on their faces made him want to explode in sheer anger. They had come so close, experienced a small moment of success only to have it all dashed away. Unexpectedly, he met the gray eyes of the Slytherin, who despite looking to be in excruciating pain, seemed to be trying to tell him something.

"So how will we do this?" A Death Eater asked. "Should we each grab one prisoner and apparate them back to the manor?"

"Only Crabbe is allowed to apparate directly into the manor. Do you think his Mark can help him side-along all six prisoners…as well as the four of us? Ten people?"

The Death Eater holding Charlie's portkey growled. "Well, I sure as hell ain't apparating to the damned border and walking the rest of the way with these prisoners."

A large Death Eater similar in size to the one that Ginny had stunned used the tip of his wand to scratch his head. "I can do it. I'm allowed one more trip, I think. The manor's not too far from here. I can apparate with ten people. My Mark will sting awful, though."

The wizard who had kicked Charlie clapped his hands. "Lovely!" He prodded the redhead with his foot. "Get up. All of you get up and gather in the middle. Hurry, because I have no problem with using the Cruciatus on blood traitors."

The other three Death Eaters stood together, two of them holding on to who must be Crabbe. They waited impatiently for the last Death Eater to finish prodding the prisoners into a huddle in front of them.

Charlie allowed himself to be moved and grabbed Ginny's arm when she came close enough. Fred and George held Ron's shoulder tightly and they shared the same look of defeat on their faces. Charlie looked around for Malfoy and the little girl, finally spotting the blond moving agonizingly slowly near the group of three Death Eaters. He was moving too slowly, almost as if he didn't want to cross the last few steps to meet the Weasleys. The older wizard stared at him, trying to figure out the message that he was trying to give him.

Draco's eyes moved deliberately to Charlie's right hand, where he still gripped his wand. Next, it moved to the overzealous Death Eater near them. After looking at Charlie pointedly, his gaze shifted to the portkey in the possession of the Death Eater to the right of Crabbe. Slowly, he moved his lips, making sure that his lips were easy to read. "Activation word?"

Suddenly, it hit Charlie. Malfoy's plan unfurled in his mind and although he knew it would guarantee his family's safety, he was reluctant to carry it out. He pursed his lips and glared back at the blond sternly.

However, when he heard Ginny hiss in pain by his side and turned his head to see the Death Eater running his hand through her long hair, Charlie felt something snap inside him. Glancing quickly back at Malfoy, he gave a curt nod.

Draco acknowledged the nod with a slight one of his own. Pushing the mysterious pain in his middle to the back of his mind and shifting his feet subtly, Draco waited.

Without any warning, Charlie yelled, "Family!"

Taking advantage of the startled silence following his outburst, Charlie and Draco moved in unison. The redhead yanked the Death Eater's grip off of his sister and jabbed his wand deep into the wizard's throat, mumbling a combination stun spell and incendiary curse that soon filled the air with the smell of burnt flesh. Hurriedly, he pushed the burning man away from him and grabbed Ginny and Fred's arms. Meanwhile, Draco sprinted the few steps toward the three Death Eaters, reaching for the portkey peeking through a gloved hand.

Repeating the overly clichéd password under his breath, his fingers touched the smooth edge of the saucer. Even as Crabbe's Cruciatus spell hit him, Draco refused to let go of the portkey. When he felt the familiar pulling sensation around his navel, he sighed in relief, especially as the torture spell abruptly ceased when the Death Eater realized what was going on. Although the Death Eaters tried to jerk away, the magic of the portkey already had them attached in order to insure a safe travel. Draco looked back just in time to see Charlie's thankful smile before the portkey whisked him, as well as the three Death Eaters, away.

The Weasleys stared at the empty spot in silence for a few moments, all of them aching from the earlier blast and disbelieving at what they had just witnessed. "What the fuck was that?" Ron asked, his voice wavering in the end.

Ginny whirled to look at Charlie. "Did you know he was going to do that?" she shrieked at him. Her indignant anger caused her cheeks to flush. "Why'd you tell him the activation word?"

Charlie sighed, looking around at his siblings before looking at the still burning corpse on the ground, as well as the two other unconscious Death Eaters. "He asked for it," he answered wearily. The sheer amount of magic he had used was already taking its toll on him.

"Well, you know where the portkey goes, right?" George asked.

Fred nodded. "We should go and get him."

Charlie blinked, once again looking at each of the young faces. Since when did they care so much for a Malfoy? "Unfortunately, I don't know where it goes. It's an unused safe house for the Order, that's all they told me."

Ginny groaned and rubbed her face. "So what do we…wait." Her hair whirled as she looked frantically around. "Where's Sophie?"

Ron swore and joined in the search, peering behind trees and bushes in case the little girl was smart enough to hide. "I don't see her," he called out.

"Me neither," the twins said from where they were looking a distance away.

"You think she got swept up in the portkey?" Ron asked.

Ginny scowled. "I don't see how, as she wasn't even touching the damned thing."

"Perhaps one of the Death Eaters grabbed her," Charlie suggested. Ignoring the dirty look Ginny sent at him, he gestured for them to gather around him. "There's nothing else we can do here. I guess we can just apparate to Bill's place for now, until they figure out where to put you. The Burrow's been compromised and now the Order's only letting a select few know the location of the headquarters."

No matter how hard they tried, Ginny, Ron, and Fred couldn't help but glance at George. The twin's head was down, but it didn't cover the redness of his ears or the dejected slump of his shoulders.

Noticing, Charlie placed a hand on his shoulder. "George, no one blames you. I would've done the same, trust me." He waited until George acknowledged his words with a small smile, and then walked to each of the bodies to pick up their discarded wands. He handed one to each of the twins. Ginny gripped her own stolen wand tightly, no longer feeling quite so defenseless. Charlie smiled grimly around. "Alright, let's get you home. George, you side-along Ron. Ginny, hold on to me. Fred, don't splinch yourself in your condition. We'll figure out what to do with Malfoy and Sophie later, I promise."

For the third time that day, the crack of disapparation disrupted the usual silence of the forest.


	11. Part II: Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** Violence, language

**Chapter 11**

He was surprised the violent jerking of the portkey didn't kill him, and when the group landed roughly upon an unkempt lawn belonging to what seemed to be an ancient, abandoned shack, Draco almost wished it did. Regret had hit him full force the instant he touched the portkey and felt the familiar tugging around his middle. He couldn't even prepare himself for the excruciating pain that he knew was coming.

It had to be a miracle that his insides had not all spilled out in the split second journey to who-knows-where. Draco knew he was bleeding at an alarming rate, judging by his shirt being ridiculously damp and heavy with the stuff. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to move, but here he was…faced with three grown Death Eaters unarmed.

Draco wasn't stupid though. He wasn't brave. He wasn't reckless. No way would he willingly sacrifice his life for anyone other than his family, and the Weasleys were definitely not his family. No, he didn't activate the portkey for the Weasleys. Of course not.

Draco saw a chance, and he took it. There was no fucking way he'll allow himself to be hauled back into Voldemort's hands. Hell, he'd do anything to avoid that.

"Blaise," Draco managed to gasp, after spitting out the blood that had suddenly filled his mouth. He tried to pick himself up off the grass, squinting at the Death Eater nearest to him through his unexpectedly blurry vision.

Without a word, the Death Eater placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, firmly pushing him back down to the ground. Before Draco could even blink, the wizard raised his wand and aimed two stunning spells one right after the other toward his two partners.

Crabbe went down immediately. Draco swore that he felt the ground shake a little when the big man collapsed.

The last Death Eater was more nimble, and managed to cast a shield to repel the stun spell before it could hit him. Not even a second passed by when he threw the Cruciatus Curse repeatedly toward them. The anger in his movements was obvious. Quick and vicious, the spells flew toward Draco's protector, but fortunately, none found their target.

The two Death Eaters dueled tirelessly. Their moves were efficient, merciless, and seemingly never-ending. The slightly electric feel to the air was giving Draco a headache, and that combined with the damn wound he got out of nowhere made him a very miserable Draco indeed.

Draco blinked rapidly when darkness once again threatened to overwhelm his vision. He was losing consciousness.

Trying to keep himself awake, he shook his head vigorously…or tried to. His movements were sluggish and weak. Draco could practically feel his body slowing further down with every second that passed. The sounds of the battle registered vaguely inside his head as well as the loud creaking of the shack as the wind buffeted against it, and he struggled to watch the duel with his failing vision.

Just as Draco began to wish it to be over – the battle or his life, it didn't matter – the opposing Death Eater surprisingly staggered backwards, and his wand arm jerked up as he tried to regain his balance.

His protector immediately took the opportunity to utter the incantation that Draco would never in a million years expect to come out of his friend's mouth. "_Avada Kedavra._"

The distinct metallic smell of the curse, as well as the cold ruthless tone that said it, sent chills traveling up Draco's spine. Without even noticing it, his eyes closed tight and he curled into himself while his body began to shiver uncontrollably as if the weather were frigid instead of the current warm breeziness of summer.

Inexplicably, he was pulled back to that fateful night atop Hogwart's tower, witnessing the first of many casualties of a blossoming war. Severus's emotionless and unhesitant incantation of the Unforgivable Curse had sent a nasty shock through Draco's body, successfully numbing him so that very little of the journey afterward could be remembered. He had felt so cold that night.

When a hand pushed him gently onto his back, Draco wanted to pull away. Only when the hand shook his shoulder roughly did he open his eyes to escape the repeating image of Dumbledore's falling dead body, and found himself staring into the face of a very old friend.

"Blaise…" Draco studied the regal face in front of him, a mixture of gratefulness and confusion whirling inside him. His guess back in the forest had been correct; he had recognized Blaise's voice and gestures, and with barely any thought, practically handed his life to his friend without much hesitation. Although his risk paid off – he was still alive, after all – Draco wasn't sure how he felt seeing a close friend wear the same white mask that had adorned all of his tormentors for the last few months.

Currently, that white mask was gone, and in its place were haughty, elegant features that were currently arranged in a strange combination of horror and exasperation. Looking so familiar, and yet so bizarre in these surroundings, Blaise Zabini crouched down near him, looking more concerned as his gaze swept down to take in his bloody shirt.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, bringing the other's attention back to his face. "Since when have you been a Death Eater?"

Blaise twirled his wand nervously, but did not answer his questions. Instead, he looked back up toward the Death Eater he had just killed and asked, "Did you bring a child with you?"

Draco blinked, caught off guard by the inquiry. "I…don't believe so." He answered slowly, thinking back to the last time he saw the young muggle. He thought the girl had stayed by Ginny's side, although he wasn't so sure.

Blaise snorted. "Alright. But can you explain to me why out of nowhere, a little kid ran up behind Abel and pulled on his trousers?"

Draco's face scrunched in confusion and he turned his head slightly to look toward the fallen Death Eater, not quite knowing what to expect. A jolt of disbelief rushed through him when his eyes took in the picture of Sophie flat on her bottom, staring uncomprehendingly at the lifeless body not even a foot away from her. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"No idea, mate. I think you can explain that one better than me." Blaise chuckled and straightened up. "I didn't know you're making a habit of rescuing people, Draco." Unlike Nott's, his tone was playful instead of scathing, and a small part of Draco was relieved at that. "So what the hell happened to you? How'd you get injured again?"

Dragging his eyes away from Sophie's still form, Draco looked down upon himself. Almost reluctantly, he moved to open up his shirt. He normally had no trouble looking at blood, but when the blood was his own, he couldn't help but feel queasy. "I have no idea what Goyle did to me. I swear none of his spells hit," he murmured as his shaking fingers fumbled with the small buttons.

Once his shirt was open, the wound could barely be seen through the mess of blood that covered his skin. Draco struggled to keep from gagging while Blaise quickly murmured a cleaning charm. His friend froze when the thin, straight cut was revealed.

"Goyle didn't do this to you, you idiot. Where the hell are your bandages?"

Draco looked at him, not liking the urgent tone in his voice. He almost didn't want to tell the truth; he knew Blaise wouldn't appreciate his…generosity. Working in a nonchalant shrug, he said as casually as he could in his position, "I no longer needed it, so I gave it to someone who did."

Blaise gave him an incredulous look that was quite amusing on his usually stoic face and Draco smiled despite the intense pain he was feeling. "You thought you were healed?" Blaise asked.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Yes. Do the bandages not speed up healing?"

His friend let out an explosive sigh. "No…not even close." He dropped down to sit upon the overgrown grass and after glancing at Crabbe to make sure he was still stunned, he looked a Draco with a grim expression. "Those bandages were soaked in a potion that regresses your body's condition to the way it was at some moment in the past." His tone was slightly monotonous, as if he recited from a book. "It's primarily used by old people, who drink the potion to feel younger, but there's a catch: they aren't_ really_ younger…they just _feel_ younger." Blaise gave Draco a pointed look.

"I was never healed?"

"No. I'm guessing when you took off the bandages, your body was slowly catching up with the present, and since there's no way a wound like that could've healed already, it showed up again…at a rather unfortunate time."

Draco groaned. "Fuck." The blond winced as he shifted to find a more comfortable position on the grass. He looked uncertainly at the dilapidated shack before looking back down at the cut in his middle.

It looked like a long scratch; not even three millimeters wide, it stretched from a little above his navel to disturbingly near where he assumed his heart to be. If it _was_ the same wound that Voldemort inflicted upon him, Draco knew it was no mere scratch. He was stabbed straight through, and he knew that his back would show a similar mark.

His wound was bleeding steadily, and Draco wondered how in the world he was still alive. He looked up to find Blaise staring solemnly at him.

Uncannily, Blaise answered the question that he had not voiced. "The blade that Voldemort used held Nagini's poison. Her poison not only makes it harder for wounds to heal, but it also keeps you alive until she can devour you." Blaise smiled uncomfortably. "She likes to eat live wizards, you see. She likes to absorb their magic."

Draco frowned, the image of their Muggle Studies professor being swallowed whole flashed into his mind. After several moments of silence, during which Draco tried to settle on a breathing pattern that won't hurt too terribly, he removed the backpack that had remained unharmed through the brief encounter with Goyle and offered Blaise a wan smile. "You seem to know a lot," he remarked.

His friend nodded. "Yes. Professor Snape has kept me informed about you. He's been teaching me some things over the summer. I made those bandages, you know. With his supervision."

Draco frowned. Was that why Severus was absent throughout his imprisonment? He had to babysit Blaise?

Swallowing down the feeling of annoyance – it could've been jealousy, but he would never admit that – Draco suddenly jerked toward the now moving body of Crabbe, involuntarily letting out a hiss when his wound flared in warning.

Calmly, Blaise lifted his wand, and for the second time, casted the killing curse.

The green light flew past Draco's eyes, only a few centimeters away, and he watched the spell hit Crabbe in the side of his neck. The big man's movements abruptly stopped, and Draco felt as if his heart stopped with him.

He turned to look wide-eyed at Blaise, who looked back at him with a smug expression on his face. "Why'd you do that? That was Vince's _father_!"

Blaise shrugged. "Would you rather the big oaf attack me instead? Besides, the Dark Lord would've punished him anyways for letting you lot escape. He's better off getting killed by me or you." When Draco only continued to stare at him disbelievingly, Blaise made an impatient gesture with his hand. "C'mon you prat, you should be grateful I'm able to do it so you wouldn't have to."

Draco narrowed his eyes and scowled at the other boy. "I've seen too many lives wasted to just extinguish one like it's worth nothing. He could've had a chance."

A thin eyebrow rose in reply. "What a terribly Hufflepuff sentiment, Draco. I'd never thought I'd see the day."

"Not _Hufflepuff_ at all, Blaise. It's called being _human_." Draco snapped at him. With difficulty, the blond forced his emotions to calm down, letting it all out in a heavy sigh, and rubbed his face tiredly. "What the hell are you going to do now? You just betrayed Voldemort. He'll kill you."

Blaise shrugged and with a slight frown of concentration on his face, conjured up a roll of clean bandages. "You betrayed the Dark Lord, and you're still alive."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I am doing absolutely grand at the moment." He didn't mention the fact that he had never deliberately betrayed Voldemort. Failed his mission and escaped, yes. Killed a couple of his followers, no.

He obediently shrugged off his shirt when Blaise gestured and held his breath as he casted another cleaning charm on his back. Interestingly, the slight sting of the spell could still be felt even among the pain caused by the wound.

Blaise chuckled as he wrapped the conjured bandages tightly around him. "At least you're not still stuck in your manor." Once Draco's torso was completely covered, he tied the ends of the bandages into an efficient knot. "These might deteriorate in the next few hours. Conjuring's never been my strong point, unfortunately, but I'll put a stasis charm on it for now, and knowing you, you'll figure something out after I leave."

Draco looked at him in alarm. "What? You're leaving?"

"Yes. I have to report back to Professor Snape and let the Dark Lord know that retrieval was a failure, and I was the only survivor." He said it so simply, as if there weren't dozens of ways that his plan could backfire and he may end up tortured or dead. Blaise flashed Draco a rare grin and stood up, brushing off stray blades of grass.

"What?" Draco repeated. He could feel a rising panic inside him, and with difficulty, pushed himself off the ground. "You're insane! Voldemort will fucking kill you! Stay with me." With Blaise's help, he managed to stand without wobbling. The heaviness in his head seemed to have disappeared, leaving him painfully aware of his own ragged breathing.

"He wouldn't. I wasn't ordered to look after you prisoners. I'd say Nott would be in some trouble, but I'm safe." He smiled gently, and the expression was so unusual for him that Draco took a step back, feeling unnecessarily disturbed. "I would stay, Draco, really, but I need to see through this war to the end. You might've lost the Dark Lord's favor, but with Professor Snape's help, I'm quickly rising through the ranks, and pretty soon, I may gain a position in his inner circle."

It was hard not to gape at his friend. "Why the hell would you want that?"

Blaise stared back at Draco, his expression turning slightly confused. "I want a bigger role in the war," he answered. When the blond's face became even more incredulous, Blaise shifted on his feet. "What? Just because you've fallen out of grace with the Dark Lord, I should meekly follow you and give up my goals as well? I want to win, Draco. I want to put those muggles and mudbloods in their place and make them see our superiority. It's what we dreamed about countless times in Hogwarts."

"All the things we've fantasized in Hogwarts were part of our childhood _games_, Blaise. This war isn't a game; you can get hurt. You can get killed. Trust me, damn it; I've learned the hard way." His voice was verging on pleading, but Draco didn't care.

Blaise's expression turned cold. "You failed your task, Draco, and so you got punished. If you weren't so selfish on winning all the glory in sixth year, you could've asked for my help and you wouldn't be stuck in this position. You've had your chance, and now it is my turn." He stared silently at Draco for a few seconds, then turned away. "You're not like how you used to be, and I no longer know, so…where do you stand now, Draco?"

Draco was highly tempted to simply shrug off the last few months, as well as his entire sixth year, and give the answer his friend wanted to hear. Tell him that he still gave a shit about blood purity. That he still cared about gaining power over the weak. That he adored and respected the Dark Lord and everything he stood for. But in all honesty, he was tired of it all. He looked at Blaise apologetically. "Not with Voldemort," he answered.

Blaise nodded absently, as if he expected that reply. He murmured a spell, and Crabbe's and Abel's wands flew to his hand. Another spell brought Abel's body flying toward Crabbe until the dead body landed sloppily over the large form. Ignoring the still silent Sophie, he walked past her to the Death Eaters he had killed and paused with one hand firmly grabbing their sleeves.

"I'm going back, and I won't tell anyone where you are. I owe you that much as a friend." Without a last look at Draco, he Disapparated.

The loud crack seemed to jolt Sophie out of her trance. Draco watched her as she blinked slowly and looked around. When her eyes caught Draco's own, they widened and the girl leapt up to her feet and stumbled the few steps to his side. Her hand firmly grasped the side of his trousers again and she gazed up at him, frowning slightly. "Magic is scary," she commented solemnly.

Draco snorted, but didn't reply. He was still reeling from Blaise's abrupt departure. He was uncertain of whether he should be glad his friend had saved him from a trip back to his prison or terrified of what Blaise may be subjected to once back under Voldemort's clutches.

He tried to tell himself he shouldn't worry. Blaise had chosen to go back. He wanted to fight this war. Draco grimaced, as in his head came an unbidden thought that the only reason he himself wanted to avoid this war was because he was afraid. Compared to Blaise, he was a coward.

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use mulling over these things. He had made his decision, and it really was too late to change it. With difficulty, he tried to garner some of that determination he had felt the moment he led the Weasleys and the muggle out of his kitchen, picked up Pansy's backpack, and turned toward the ramshackle building.

Barely suppressing his contempt – this was what passed as a safehouse for the Order? – he stepped toward it. Sophie matched his step without a word. "This will be our new home for awhile; what do you think?" he asked conversationally as they walked up the path to the rotting wooden door.

A glance at the girl's fascinated face made him smile slightly, and with a start of surprise, he realized he was glad of her company. He never did like being alone.

Throwing the slightly disturbing realization out of his mind, Draco reached for the rusty doorknob. All he really wanted was a place to sleep, and even though he knew he probably shouldn't trust Blaise's word and that he should get him and Sophie as far away from here as possible, Draco couldn't find the energy to care.

Exhausted, hungry, and with his wound throbbing painfully, Draco let Sophie enter the house before him, and with an amused expression on his face at her obvious excitement, he followed her.


	12. Part II: Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings:** None

**Chapter 12**

It only took one glance around the interior to pretty much see all there was to see. A small cot dominated the tiny space, with a messy pile of blankets clumped together where normally a pillow would lie. Pushed against a dusty corner was a questionable table of a size clearly meant for a single person, as well as a rickety chair that looked as if it would collapse if anyone dared to sit upon it. Other than those items, the shack was empty. A visible layer of dust coated the wooden floor, and when the pair stepped further inside, the dust flew up like puffs of clouds into the air.

"_This_ is our new home?"

Despite the worrying reddish haze obscuring the outer edges of his vision, Draco was amused at the obvious disgusted tone in her voice. He glanced down at the muggle, who looked back up at him with a scandalized expression on her face. Her lips contorted into a pout. "I miss _my_ home." She looked down to the floor. "I want Mum," she murmured.

Thinking back to the fact that he had only just escaped from his own home, he couldn't share her sentiment. However, looking around one more time with as neutral an expression as he could manage on his face, he couldn't really blame the girl.

The shack was small, almost comically small. Draco's brow wrinkled as he contemplated the single cot in the room. It made no sense. The Order wouldn't give even one Weasley such a repulsive hovel as a safe house, let alone an entire pack of them. The family was important to Potter; surely the Order would respect them enough to offer a descent place?

Sophie inched her way toward the chair, gazing wide-eyed at the sheer dullness of the place and sneezing several times as the dust settled around her shoulders. Draco eyed the bed warily, idly wondering if it were infested with disgusting insects. A wave of lightheadedness took his reluctance away a moment later, and he sat gratefully on the edge of the mattress, grimacing slightly from both pain and the bed's hardness. He frowned. This thing really didn't deserve to be termed "bed," really. More like…a bloody rock.

But it was something, and he was tired. He couldn't complain now. He was safely away from the manor and away from Voldemort and away from the war. No more meaningless games and torture. Of course, nothing was perfect, but for now, Draco was glad to simply be alive.

He frowned again. Staying alive involved several unforgiving, quite crucial necessities, one of which demands the daily consumption of food. And water. Swearing a little under his breath and defying years of strict lessons, Draco slouched with his face in hands and elbows on knees, because fuck it, his mother wasn't here to scold him.

Food. He really couldn't help but feel a little self pity. He'd never had need to worry about his next meal before, whether they were brought to him in abundance at Hogwarts or on a pathetic tin plate in a cell, he could depend on filling his stomach at some point in the day. Now, he was verging on two days of nothing but water to fill him. Moreover, it was not only him he needed to worry about now.

Draco peeked through his fingers to gaze at the little girl across the small space, only to find her staring right back at him. She smiled brightly when their eyes connected and swung her feet more enthusiastically. He eyed the wobbling chair uncertainly, but before he could tell her to stop lest she broke it, Sophie spoke.

"When will we go look for Mum?" she asked. Her face was expectant, but she nodded understandably, like a mature adult. "You don't feel good, so it can't be today. How about tomo—" Her words cut off suddenly as something caught her interest. "Kitty!" she exclaimed loudly, causing Draco to blink.

"Pardon?" he asked, but the girl was no longer looking at him. She hopped quickly off the chair, sending it scampering a few inches backward and colliding almost fatally with the table. Giving no heed to the filth, she plopped belly-down on the dusty floor, and squinted fiercely into the shadows underneath the bed.

"What the fu—" His words were cut off when Sophie reached an arm out and a rather distressed yowl sounded from directly beneath him. Startled, Draco jumped up off the bed, nearly stepping on Sophie in the process, and swore loudly when once again, his wound flared angrily, sending white hot agony throughout his body.

The little girl stared at him wide-eyed, saying, "Oooooh, bad word," before her attention was once again stolen by the thing under the bed.

Draco, gasping quite heavily, watched her struggling for a few moments until he realized he should probably do something to help the kid out. He surveyed the filthy ground and immediately decided he would not imitate the muggle. Instead, he went to the end of the bed, and while he didn't expect much, attempted to lift it.

To his surprise, and Sophie's too, judging by her yelp, the bed came up with no resistance, and floated almost gracefully the rest of the way to the cobwebbed ceiling. When it hit the top of the shack, it repelled slightly but bobbed right back up until it rested unmoving in the air.

Draco wasted a few seconds staring dumbly at the bed's underbelly, his shocked mind at a blank. When Sophie let out a delighted scream loud enough to wake the devil itself, Draco glanced down to the sight of the kid hugging – squeezing, really – a silver tabby cat.

Now, Draco found himself staring at a different oddity, and his poor undernourished mind struggled to understand the situation. While the color of the cat reminded him of McGonagall, he was one hundred percent sure that this cat was not her. Why? Because the cat was fat. Really fat. It wasn't a charming fat, either. In fact, it could be considered morbidly obese. Sophie was having trouble carrying the thing, and most of the cat still touched the floor, though it could not be comfortable stretched to its limits with tiny human arms squeezing underneath its front legs.

Uneasily, Draco watched the cat's belly bulge slightly from Sophie's tight grip. "Drop it, kid. You might…pop it."

Sophie's only answer was to laugh wildly, jumping up and down and around the tiny space, dragging the pathetic animal with her and once again disturbing the dust on the wooden floor. The cat was certainly _not_ amused at being manhandled and yowled disconsolately. Its eyes snapped to Draco and it stared at him with pupils abnormally large in the dim light, as if silently asking for assistance.

"Hey kid, calm down."

His half-hearted attempt was thoroughly ignored, and Draco swore he saw a little reproach in those inky eyes. He looked away, glancing up at the floating bed disbelievingly one last time before looking at the floor, and what he saw made him lose interest in Sophie's antics and the fat cat real quick.

There, camouflaged with the wooden floor, was a small indent. Usually, he wouldn't notice such things; however, judging from the clear paw prints circling the indent, Draco knew that this was what held the cat's interest before being rudely interrupted by the muggle girl. Upon closer inspection, he could make out a faint square outline in the wood, expertly arranged so that it seemed to match the woods' natural grooves from a few steps back. Grimacing, Draco dropped to his knees and reached a hand out to the indent. His fingers curled naturally into it, and once he had a firm grip, he pulled up. Nothing happened. It was stuck. Frowning, Draco then decided to push down.

It was a good thing he didn't apply too much force, otherwise he might've toppled face-first into the depths that the wooden trapdoor had just revealed.

Draco glanced up, exchanging glances with Sophie, who was now standing stock still, eyes riveted to Draco's discovery, and the cat, who seemed to be glaring at him.

"Is this where you've been getting your food?" He asked it. "Am I about to find the reason to your weight problem?"

Of course, the cat didn't answer. It stared at him sullenly, as if it understood its territory was about to be usurped. Sophie giggled, apparently amused that he was talking to a cat.

Reaching a hand into the shadows, Draco could feel a horizontal wooden pole, which he assumed to be a rung of a ladder. He grabbed it and pushed down on it as hard as he could, and when he was certain the ladder wasn't going to collapse on him, he secured Pansy's bag high up on his shoulder and maneuvered his body with great difficulty until his feet were safely standing on a rung.

Ignoring the pain, he made his way steadily underground, breathing in the stale, but dust-free air beneath the shack. Halfway down the ladder, once his head cleared the dusty wooden floor, the trapdoor closed itself on top of him. Forcing his feet further down jolted his wound again and again, and beads of sweat formed on his brow at the exertion. It was not a pleasant experience, but thankfully, it was a short one. Draco found himself touching ground and without warning, lights abruptly flared all around him, startling Draco so much that he let out an uncharacteristic, high-pitched yelp and dropped the bag to the floor.

Once he reassured himself that the world had not exploded on him, he blinked rapidly, his eyes still not accommodating to the sudden brightness. When it was no longer too painful to keep his eyes open, Draco looked around, and as he did, a great feeling of relief dissipated the self-pity he had felt above.

The room beneath the shack resembled a fairly well-equipped bunker. The ladder led to a small lounge, occupied by several mismatched furniture. Five small doors were embedded into the stone walls, currently wide open. Peering cautiously inside each room, Draco discovered two reasonably sized bedrooms, each complete with two naked cots and wooden dressers. Two other doors revealed basic bathrooms, nearly Spartan in their style. The last door led to a combined kitchen and dining area, and it was clearly in this room in which the cat spent most of its time.

Fighting off the weariness that had set into what felt like every single one of his bones, Draco dragged his feet into the kitchen's entrance, leaning heavily against the doorframe. It looked as if a tiny whirlwind had swept across the room. Half-eaten pieces of chicken were abandoned at random places on the floor. Scattered all along the countertops and table were an assortment of baked goods, which were apparently of no interest to this cat. Generous piles of fish bones littered the area, as well as an overturned barrel of what Draco deduced to be pumpkin juice. The entire place smelled of the sweet liquid, successfully drowning the surely unpleasant odor of the rotting meat and bones accumulated in this room.

Draco shuddered involuntarily at the mess, shocked at how such a small (relative to him, at least) creature could create such destruction. Although there seemed to be a few untouched barrels and high cabinets that surely cats cannot open, the amount of wasted food was almost staggering. Judging from the carnage, the cat had had plenty to eat. With no need for hunting, the cat had grown fat with complacency and spent most of the day gorging itself. Idly, Draco wondered how that cat had gone back to the surface. Surely not back up the ladder. How did the cat get back up there?

Oh. That muggle was still up there.

Draco turned around, too exhausted to look at the mess any longer, and faced the ladder in the corner of the lounge. Cursing Voldemort – quietly, in case the wizard was able to read his mind through the Dark Mark – and the world in general for his condition, Draco made his slow way toward the ladder again, and looked up.

No handle, no grooves. Nothing. A steel tongue placed at the edge of the trapdoor prevented it from going up, only allowing it to collapse downward. Clearly, this trapdoor served only as an entrance into this hideout. Judging from the smoothed out edges that blended perfectly with the ceiling, it was impossible to try and pry it open from below.

It took awhile for Draco to process this information. His mind was failing him, trying to shut him down to get some rest. He turned back to the room at large, eyes sweeping to find the exit, for of course, there must be one. That cat appeared above somehow.

At that point, the trapdoor above flipped inward, allowing the fat cat to plummet toward the ground. Being a cat, it landed easily on its four paws, though it made a quite a thump. A moment later, Sophie's small form latched onto the ladder. She managed to go down a couple rungs before her body froze.

"I'm stuck!" the girl exclaimed, her voice the saddest Draco had heard since he first met her.

Draco frowned. "What do you mean, you're stuck? Just climb down."

The girl was not really stuck. Not by any physical force, at least. Actually, she had looked down, and deemed the height was too much. Her limbs had locked and refused to move because she believed with all her being that moving meant falling. "I'll fall!" Sophie wailed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Draco scowled, reached up, and easily plucked the girl from the fifteen-foot ladder. He almost dropped her, but she managed to rotate and exchanged her grip from the ladder onto his shoulders.

With a grunt, he placed the muggle onto the ground, and rested against the ladder for a few seconds. Lifting a little thirty pound girl was too much for him in his state. Blinking away the red haze, which had grown more urgent in the past few minutes, Draco mumbled to Sophie that he needed to sleep.

Not caring to see if she understood him, he stepped groggily over the cat, who had deemed the spot he landed on was as good a place as any for a nap, and over to a long cloth-covered couch. He couldn't find to the energy to make it into one of the bedrooms.

_Safe house_, Draco thought. _Should be safe here. That's the definition of safe house. It's the definition, so it must be true. It's safe here. Safe enough to sleep._

Usually, if his thoughts rambled like that, Draco caught himself. However, he was too far gone now to care. The pain was wearing down his body up to the point where he could no longer ignore it. He needed rest and time for his body to heal the aberration on his torso.

Just after he collapsed on the couch, during a split-second moment of lucidity, he gazed at Sophie and pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "Food…somewhere in there." Then, his eyelids collapsed and Draco slept.

Sophie nodded her head rapidly as if Draco were still looking at her. But first, she picked up a quilt that was folded on the arm of a loveseat and shook it out. _There could be bugs hiding_, her mother had said once during a stay at a bed and breakfast inn. She draped the blanket over the blond boy's form, tucking in the edges like her mother did for her.

"No bugs for you," whispered to girl. When Draco was wrapped up nice and comfortable, Sophie turned to the cat. She smiled brightly at the silver tabby, walking over to where it laid on its side. "C'mon kitty, let's go make dinner for my angel." She grabbed the cat's two front paws and proceeded to drag the animal toward the door that Draco had pointed at. "I dunno know what angels eat, but we can see what there is, first."

Sophie glanced at her sleeping guardian angel and smiled. Just like the picture in the book. Pale skin, and bright golden, almost white hair. _Beautiful beings, _Mum had said. Mum told her everyone had one, a guardian angel, but no one had ever met theirs. But she did. He saved her, but he got hurt because of her. Don't worry, though, because she'll take care of him. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight ever.

_Wait till I tell her_, Sophie thought. _I'm taking care of my guardian angel. I'm the guardian angel this time. Mum will be happy._

Down on the floor, powerless against the determined girl, the cat let out a depressed mewl. Its world had just been turned upside-down in less than ten minutes, and it was not pleased.


	13. Part II: Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings: **Dark themes

**Chapter 13**

It was impossible for Draco to keep track of how much time had passed in the safe house.

Minutes, hours, days could've gone by, but he wasn't aware of it. He was in a constant daze, feverish and senseless. He wasn't aware of any thought, any emotion, or anything at all working in his mind. His body acted on its own, swallowing the water and whatever food that was stuffed into his mouth and moving mechanically to the toilet when necessary.

Vague images, of his mother, Voldemort, his father, Professor Snape, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, and even Potter, drifted into and out of his head at times, and without knowing it, he would whimper and say things that he couldn't understand himself. His body was constantly shaking, constantly in pain, and Draco was lost in it.

Rare moments of clarity revealed to him tiny, cool fingers stroking his hair, a wet cloth wiping at his face in attempt to battle the fever, a cheerful humming that filled his ears and became the anchor that Draco clung to in order to stay in this coherent state. They never lasted long, but they lasted long enough for him to remove his bandages, splash water carelessly at his wound, and rewrap himself with the abundant fresh gauze that Sophie had thoughtfully carried from the bathroom to his couch.

Inevitably, he fell back into senselessness, seeing demons that weren't there and murmuring words without realizing it.

However, his meaningless words were always answered, sometimes with giggling, sometimes with more words at an attempt at a one-sided conversation. Draco couldn't notice, but Sophie was persistent. She kept him company during even the worst of the nightmares he wasn't even aware he was having. She made sure he had plenty of water and soft foods, just like when she was sick and her mum took care of her. She threw away the bloody bandages in the magic rubbish bin that could never be full, and she helped him to the loo before dashing quickly out of the bathroom to give him privacy, giggling all the while.

Sophie was quite content, although Draco hadn't looked directly at her in a long time. His eyes were always drifting off, no matter how many times she tried to train his face in her direction. Despite this, and despite his absent state, Sophie was determined to play her role as his guardian angel, at least until he was no longer sick.

When she slept, she slept near him, close enough to feel the heat of his fever, but not close enough to accidentally hit him where he was hurt. When she woke, he was what she first opens her eyes to, and his heartbeat was the first thing she listens to with her ear pressed gently against his chest.

Sophie played with the cat at times, when Draco was in his stay-still-as-death phases, and the cat amused her very much. The cat tried its best to avoid her, however, and it learned that staying near the blond would lessen the chance of the girl's rough-housing. And so it had taken to curling up against Draco's leg, only leaving his side to swipe the remaining food in the kitchen when Sophie fell asleep.

Days passed in this manner, until the days stretched into weeks, and Sophie began to look at Draco with fear in her heart. Her words to him became more urgent, and her caretaking of him became more hesitant.

She was young, but she understood he wasn't well. His skin stayed so hot, and his bandages were always bloody, and she couldn't understand why he wasn't getting better.

She wanted to ask her mum, because her mum would know what to do. Her mum would know how to help him. And Sophie would cry, finally feeling the loneliness as Draco again and again ignored her words. She would whimper for her mum, and no one would answer her. She would call for her sister, who could do anything with her magic, but still, no one answered her.

She took up silence, now, opening her mouth only to eat and drink and brush her teeth with the pink toothbrush she'd found in the backpack. Only 4 years old, and she already understood that despite the heartbeat beating slowly in Draco's chest, she was alone.

O_O

"Hogwarts is reopening tomorrow."

The unexpected voice drew Ginny out of her thoughts. She glanced away from the cryptic letter lying open on her lap and looked up to see Charlie standing near the doorway to her room. "And what of it? It's not like we're welcome there," she said. If her tone was uncalled for, Charlie didn't remark on it.

"Snape's the headmaster, Death Eaters acting as professors…" Charlie trailed off, leaning wearily against the doorframe with a furrow in his brow. "The school council has been overtaken with Voldemort supporters. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and the rest are too closely watched to be able to help everyone in the castle, so we're trying to establish a connection with some of the students in the case they need our help." After a brief silence in which Ginny appeared not to hear a word he'd said, Charlie said in a louder voice, "I volunteered you to come up with a few names."

"DA," Ginny answered immediately. "Start with them."

Her blunt answer made Charlie blink, and then he noticed the letter on her lap. "Is that from Harry?" he asked.

Ginny glanced at the letter, her eyes scanning the few words there yet again. "He never tells me anything," she said, and now, her tone was trembling with worry and frustration. "I don't know how's he's doing, if he's hurt, or if he's taking care of himself. I honestly wish he wouldn't even bother with this worthless crap." In a sudden movement, she flung the small piece of parchment into the fire crackling within the hearth before her. "I wish I didn't care so much," she murmured quietly as she crossed her arms tightly.

Charlie crossed the room to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to bury her face against his chest. "Harry has his own tasks in this war, Ginny." He kept his voice gentle, yet matter-of-fact. "I'm sure whatever it is he's doing is necessary to win this thing, otherwise he wouldn't have left your side."

Ginny snorted and then sighed. "I've loved him for so long, and it seems like I'll never have him."

Charlie smiled wryly and ruffled her hair playfully. "For so long, huh? Then, you can wait a little longer, can't you?"

Ginny scowled at him, but smiled a split second later. "Yeah, of course. So," she said, pushing him away from her until he was in danger of falling off her chair. "Any progress on finding Draco and Sophie? It's been over 3 weeks. Fred won't shut up about them."

Charlie grimaced. "I haven't been able to find the person who knows their safe house coordinates. It could be an Order member I haven't even met," he admitted reluctantly. "With the war, everyone's too scattered for me to search properly." His sister frowned, and the lines of worry around her lips appeared again. She had spent the entire summer worrying, and it was taking its toll on her.

"As long as you keep trying," Ginny said. A few minutes passed by in comfortable silence, until Ginny sighed again. She'd been doing that a lot lately. "I wonder why he did it."

Charlie didn't answer, and although he felt regret that his efforts at finding the Malfoy boy had come to nothing thus far, he knew that soon, he wouldn't have time to continue his search. He needed to focus on his task of keeping the students of Hogwarts as safe as possible. Those students would be facing real, powerful Death Eaters right inside one of the most guarded locations in the wizarding world, while Malfoy was currently holed up in an Unplottable safe house. The kid should be fine until the end of the war.

Charlie hoped that this would be the case. He was in Malfoy's debt, after all.

"C'mon, Ginny," Charlie said finally. "Let's have dinner before Fred and George cleans out the pantry."

O_O

It took another 3 days before Draco's fever finally broke. When it happened, it didn't startle him awake, but rather, it was a gradual ascent into consciousness, and the first thing he was aware of was the sharp pain radiating outward from the center of his stomach. The next thing he picked up was the steady stream of curses that were flowing from his lips as his eyes pried themselves open to register the brightness that sent seemingly physical pinpricks straight into his brain.

He forced himself to stop mumbling immediately as his parched throat signaled its complaint, and he swallowed several times in an effort to lessen the dryness in his mouth. Unfortunately, this did not alleviate his thirst so much as forced him to realize that moving _anything_ and everything hurt. He was also still so tired, despite having just awoken. Bone-weary, he couldn't move any of his limbs no matter how hard he tried.

Dismayed, Draco attempted to take in his surroundings rather than focus on the state of his own body. The cat, noticeably less fat compared to their first meeting, was what caught his attention first. It sat curled against his shin, snug against the back of the couch, staring suspiciously at him. Pupils slit thin in the light, the gaze was somewhat disconcerting, and Draco decided the smart thing to do was leave it be.

With difficulty, he turned his head to look around properly, noting that nothing looked out of place from when he had first arrived. His eyes jumped from item to item, from the squat desk holding a neat stack of parchment and an array of quills, to the ordered shelf containing a variety of games and books in the corner. There was even an odd looking piano that appeared too small to produce the correct sounds.

It wasn't until he looked about the room several times that he remembered there should be a little muggle girl somewhere about. After scanning around one last time, Draco frowned. From his perspective, he could not see into most of the rooms, but where else could she be? Not liking the thought of getting up to look for her, he opted to call out instead.

"Sophie?"

Unfortunately, his voice came out a strangled rasp, barely understandable and even comparable to his efforts at talking when he had no tongue. Draco let out a frustrated sigh that sent a shock of pain throughout his body, making him grimace. He decided to lessen his chore by one syllable.

"Kid!"

There, that was better. There was actually some voice in that one. Draco waited expectantly, and was not disappointed when a rustle sounded from the kitchen and a rush of bare feet padded into the room.

The muggle stopped dead in her tracks when Draco looked at her, her eyes wide with surprise and delight. Her discovery that he was actually looking straight at _her_ resulted in a high pitched squeal that sent a spear of pain right into his head and must've alerted all the Death Eaters in the country. It certainly upset the cat, which promptly ditched its position near his leg to hide in one of the bedrooms.

Draco's flinch stopped the abominable sound but encouraged the girl to bound immediately to his side, gripping urgently at his shoulder. "Hurt, still?" she murmured anxiously.

"No," he answered quickly, hoping to get her to release him.

Sophie did let go of him, but she continued to stand there, staring at him with that mixture of joy and relief on her face.

Inwardly, Draco sighed. As much as he was grateful that he wasn't alone in this forsaken hole, he was still reluctant to interact much with the child. If he were to be brutally honest, he knew he was not much more a child himself, so how the hell could he be trusted to not somehow mess the kid up? Sophie had already witnessed more horror than most kids her age would see in a lifetime, and he couldn't remember even one decent conversation he'd shared with her, so he knew that he wasn't doing a very good job with her right off the bat.

In fact, the girl had treated him better than he had her. He wasn't stupid. He knew he was ill, he knew who had kept him fed, and he knew that the only reason he wasn't collapsed somewhere covered in his own waste was all because of this child barely out of toddlerhood.

He could try harder. He _should _try harder.

He could make some real effort at taking care of the girl. Maybe talk to her more, spend less time pushing her away and more time accepting the fact that she was near him. They were stuck here together, and she had done her part to guide him out of his fever. Therefore, she was due his best behavior, not only because she had taken care of him, but also because he was the older one. Responsibility should lie with him, not with the 4 year old kid.

Feeling somewhat mature for his internal decision, Draco offered Sophie a small smile. "You did well," he managed to say.

Her answering grin was lost to him as he succumbed to the heavy fatigue pushing down his entire body and returned to sleep, his face much more relaxed now than Sophie had been used to seeing the past few weeks.

With a sigh, she plopped herself down on the floor beside the couch, determined to be here when he next woke up.


	14. Part II: Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings: **Language

**Chapter 14**

"No! Don't!"

The shriek made Draco close his eyes for a few seconds. However, he gritted his teeth and continued his task, steadfastly ignoring Sophie's protests coming louder as she ran to him.

"Don't hurt it!" As was her wont, her voice had risen to piercing levels and it was almost physically painful to hear.

The last of his patience flew, and Draco's head snapped up, turning his glare to the girl. "We're out of _food_, Sophie! Do you want to starve?"

His voice was harsh, not only from frustration at her difficulty, but also from the weariness that had accompanied him like a parasite for the past year. The majority of the day had passed before Draco was finally successful at using the set of hunting knives found in the safe house to capture and kill one rabbit. He was cold, he was tired, his wound was once again acting up, and it had been two days since he last had something substantial to eat.

Sophie shrank back at his tone, but stubbornly tried to pull his arms away from the creature, paying no mind to the sharp knives in his hands.

"The hell is wrong with you," Draco muttered under his breath as he freed himself from her grasp. He wanted nothing more than to scream and smack the girl with the carcass on the ground, but he managed to control himself. He was the adult here. "You're going to eat whatever I give you, do you hear?" he affected a stern tone, trying to copy the behavior his father had shown that was so successful at garnering his own obedience.

Sophie glared at him, her small shoulders rigid and straight. She took a deep breath. "No!" she yelled before turning abruptly and running back the short distance to the shack, leaving him holding a dead rabbit alone in the growing darkness.

The next few minutes were spent both swearing and angrily skinning the rabbit, Draco's deft fingers, trained for years in cutting delicate potions ingredients, making quick work of revealing the meat and disposing the rabbit's innards. Meanwhile, the autumn wind swept about him, making him shiver and grit his teeth in pain.

It was already mid-October, and his wound was not closing. This should not be normal, but Draco guessed that Nagini's poison had probably interfered its healing somehow. Every day, he would change his bandages with the hope that it would get better, and every day, he was disappointed. In fact, as more time passed, his wound took on a more angry red, and Draco was more and more afraid to look at it.

Here he was, shivering and aggravating his wound, cutting up rabbit meat for a dinner that the muggle twit won't even eat. Draco cursed again, and doubled his efforts with the knife. It was no matter, really. He could make a stew and eat it himself, and the girl could starve herself to death. He would finally be free of her, free of the responsibility for another person's life, and it would be easier to feed just one stomach, anyways.

Finished, he threw the slices and chunks of rabbit meat into the small, oilskin sack at his side and stood, removing his bloody gloves as he did so. After one last glance around at the silent forest, taking in the vision of multi-colored leaves and a clear star-speckled sky, Draco stalked back into the shack.

Wishing that the stupid bed could make a satisfying bang when he pushed it up to the ceiling, Draco entered the safe house with a scowl on his face, noticing immediately that the muggle was nowhere to be seen. He pursed his lips, but chose not to bother with a search. The cat mewled a greeting from its position at the top of the shelf.

"You don't mind rabbit stew, do you?" Draco asked it, grouchily. When the cat didn't answer, Draco made for the kitchen, trying to not let the knowledge that he didn't even know how to _make _rabbit stew stop him.

O_O

Not every day with Sophie was difficult.

Most days were spent sitting at the squat desk, boy and girl squished next to each other, heads drawn together as they meticulously went over the letters of the alphabet, sounding them out and tracing them down on the parchment. The sound and smell of parchment and ink made Draco nostalgic for what he was currently missing from Hogwarts, and he didn't mind when Sophie took far too long to adjust her fingers with the quill.

When they were bored of lessons, Draco would teach Sophie the games on the shelf before they would play and disregard the rules completely. When he was brave enough, he took Sophie outside through the exit found in the kitchen, and they would spend the day in the forest, him discovering a myriad of plant life and animals that he wished he could bring back to his potions lab, and Sophie attempting to climb trees and chasing bugs.

On other days, Draco found himself with a short fuse, and he would snap at Sophie with little cause or warning. Her constant need for attention wore on his nerves, and sometimes, he purposely ditched her in the forest just for a few hours of peace.

Of course, reason would return, and he would frantically search for her among the thick trees, berating himself again and again that one could not simply leave a young child alone in a forest.

He wasn't perfect. Honestly, he was far from perfect. He had nowhere near enough patience to deal with a child, and he had nowhere near enough maturity nor _goodness_ in him to be able to take care of Sophie as a responsible adult. However, he still tried to do right by her, and when she annoyed him, he would try to keep his temper. Yes, he would _try_, but more often than not, he failed.

He made her cry more times than he was willing to admit, but sometimes, he would attempt to make up for it later, with a blooming flower that belonged in the beginning of spring rather than the start of autumn or a drawing that Draco would create from his memories of the creatures he'd seen in Care of Magical Creatures.

It took a while, and it was a slow, halting progress, but Draco eventually realized that he needed Sophie just as much as she needed him. At some point in the deep fall of November, when Sophie could successfully recognize and write most of the alphabet and her triumphant smile caused a feeling of warmth to wash over him, Draco realized that he _liked_ making the kid happy. He realized that when Sophie smiled or laughed, contentment would relieve his incessant pain and reduce the worry that was causing premature lines between his brows.

He needed her to keep himself sane, as she was the sole reason he could not trap himself within his own thoughts and mull over the whereabouts of his mother and the condition of his father. Although he stressed constantly about finding food, and although they went without a bite to eat multiple times during their stay in the safe house, he still fell asleep comfortably as long as he knew Sophie was in the other bed safe and was there to smile at him in the morning.

He wasn't alone. This was important. Sophie gave him a sense of purpose, and this kept him grounded. He hadn't invited the fog into his mind in a long time, and he found that he did not miss it. The numbness that the fog had brought was not healthy, he decided, and he told himself that he was needed _outside_ his head, where he can take care of Sophie and make sure she lived.

Almost five months of the muggle sticking by his side, and Draco allowed himself to admit that he had grown fond of the child. If this made him a sap, he didn't care. He found himself more tolerant of her nearness, and annoyed with her only when she did something that could harm herself. He did nothing so sentimental like tuck her into bed and the like, but now, when she smiled at him, it was too easy for him to smile back.

O_O

A particularly strong wind buffeted into Draco's back, almost pushing him forward to smash his face into the leaf-strewn ground. Draco huffed and repositioned his knees so that he was more stable and less in danger of falling. Squinting his eyes in the near darkness, he worked to set up yet another trap in front of a rabbit trail that he'd recently discovered. Finding the rabbit hole was a small victory, but creating the trap was what Draco was afraid would be his downfall. After all, he had no experience with these things and only had a thin, outdated book from the safe house as guidance.

He worked clumsily with the copper wire and branches, and the contraption fell apart more than once. Missing his wand more than ever, Draco was tempted to mark this as a lost cause and settle for another few days of nothing but herbs and the few remaining potatoes to eat. However, his hands moved again to arrange the branches, and when the branches stayed put, he let out a long sigh of relief. He looped the wire into a noose and tied it around the middle branch.

After looking at his trap critically and deeming it close enough to the picture in the book, Draco stood up and his knees creaked in protest. Once again, the flame of his wound made itself known, but Draco determinedly ignored it. He looked around for the trunk that he'd marked earlier with his knife, and after finding it in the gloom, he started back in the direction that the arrow designated.

Draco had journeyed quite a distance from the safe house, a desperate measure he had taken during a particularly bad week of starvation, and he knew that it would be full dark by the time he made it back. He had told Sophie not to leave the safe house, and he trusted her by now to heed his word.

His pace was slow, but Draco's mood was light as he walked among the trees. It was nearing winter, and Draco knew he should worry about finding food during this dangerous season, but he couldn't find it in himself to think past the expectation that soon, he would have meat to put on the table.

Draco recalled the semi-full kitchen back in the summer – July, wasn't it? – and cursed the cat silently for about the hundredth time. If it weren't for its greedy, chaotic destruction of the majority of the safe house's stores, they would still be stocked with plenty of food. Instead, the cat had interrupted the preserving charms on most of the meats, leaving behind a rotting, useless mess that took forever for him to clear out.

It was nearing December now, judging from the magical calendar hanging on the safe house wall, and although they were both unhealthily thin, Draco was glad that they were still surviving. He was doing his best getting them food, and he would do whatever was necessary to get them both through the winter.

His wound sent another spike of pain through him, as if to remind him of its worsening condition, but Draco walked doggedly on, shallowly breathing to lessen the pain's effect on his pace.

Yes, his wound was getting _worse_, with its spreading redness and leaking yellowish liquid, but with nothing to treat it other than fresh bandages and some disinfecting cream that he suspected did nothing, Draco could do nothing about it. As a result, he tried to keep it from his mind and forced himself to think of other matters. He was thankful he could still walk, and he hoped that whatever was in Nagini's poison that was keeping him alive would continue to do so. He regretted that he had not asked Blaise more about the poison before his old friend departed.

He was still contemplating on how to prepare the extra meat when a shrill shriek interrupted the silence of the forest, causing Draco to stop dead in his tracks. Frozen, he held his breath to listen as a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. It was difficult to hold still, but Draco fought the desire to scramble quickly back to the safe house and instead moved only his eyes to scan his surroundings. He wanted to cause as little a disturbance as possible, and any sudden movements would betray his position as quickly as he could blink.

Letting out his breath slowly when nothing jumped out of the shadows to attack him, Draco allowed the tenseness to drain from his shoulders. The sound was probably from some unfortunate prey, then.

After taking several deep breaths to steady himself, he once again moved forward, this time with his senses on high alert. It wouldn't do for the predator to turn its target on him next.

However, his hypothesis was dashed when several more screams and crashes sounded from somewhere nearby, and, with growing terror when he recognized that some screams formed coherent words, Draco realized that there were other _people_ in the forest with him.

"Fuck," he whispered as he looked wildly about him, fear clouding his vision so that the trees all blended together into one confusing gray mass. The setting sun offered no light to see by, and he could no longer pick out the right direction back to the safe house in his panicked disorientation.

_There_.

Draco's eyes widened as he picked out multiple flashes of colors not too far from his position. The crackling of leaves as running footsteps bounded across the forest floor was clear to him now, and he knew that it was impossible for him to run away fast enough before the interlopers heard his own footsteps and overtook him.

More screams. More spells. More crashes.

A surge of inspiration struck him when he looked around one last time, and with hardly any thought to his wound, Draco took a running start, and jumped.

His fingers grabbed the lowest branch of a nearby tree, and he quickly pulled himself up. Before the ominous cracking of the branch could give way to a more serious breaking, he reached up again, climbing ever higher and upsetting more and more leaves as he continued. Quickly, ever more quickly, he pulled himself up, trying to put as much distance between him and the ground before the strangers happened too close to his position for him to move any longer.

He tasted blood in his mouth from biting his lips too hard, felt sweat trickle between his eyes and down his neck, and more daunting, he felt a tickle against his belly and feared that blood had soaked through his bandages and were now dripping down his skin.

Sharp stinging in his fingers told him that he was picking up splinters, but he didn't allow himself to falter. The shouts were getting louder, and Draco could discern several spells that were definitely not friendly.

Once he pulled himself onto a branch that appeared steady enough to hold his weight, he stopped, slumping wearily against the trunk. Cautiously holding onto the branch so that he wouldn't upset any leaves, he peered downwards and hoped that the strangers would simply run past him.

After a few more seconds worth of suspense, the explosion of disturbed bushes and breaking branches made Draco start, and he gulped as he tried to keep as still as possible. However, when his eyes picked out a familiar bushy head running past underneath his tree, his fear was temporarily replaced with surprise, because he recognized that head, and he recognized the voice that repetitively shouted out shield charms, and he could do nothing but blink at the realization that the person he was watching was none other than Hermione Granger.

"What?" Draco couldn't help but whisper when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley followed Granger's footsteps a few seconds later, the latter bellowing out blasting curses with barely a care at his target. Draco winced when the force of the spells shook his tree badly enough that he almost slipped. Hanging on desperately, he continued to look down and wasn't disappointed when a group of wizards thundered past below him.

This group was laughing and shouting out binding curses and hexes with ferocity. Draco had no idea who these people were, and he didn't intend to find out. His fingers still clutching tightly at the wood, he waited quietly for the entire procession to past him, absently thinking that there was no way his rabbit trap had survived the disturbance.

Once a few minutes had passed by in silence, Draco blinked, interrupting the daze that his stunned mind had fallen into.

Harry Potter. Here.

Draco shook his head disbelievingly. Out of all the forests in the world, Harry Potter was running in _his_. However, with a start, Draco recalled that the older Weasley had said something about the safe house being near their new headquarters, and this sudden recollection made him uneasy.

Had he really been nearby the Order of the Phoenix this entire time? Did they know he was utilizing one of their safe houses? Or more importantly, did they mind?

Draco bit his lip and looked down again. Seeing nothing but trampled grass and crushed leaves, he leaned back against the trunk, sighing out in relief. He had no idea when it would be safe for him to come down as he didn't fancy getting tangled into whatever Potter and his sidekicks had gotten themselves into, but he knew he had to get back to the safe house soon. If Sophie became impatient and left to go look for him, she could put herself in danger.

Unless the danger came to her.

Draco sat up straight, feeling as if his heart had jumped to his throat. Why else would the Gryffindors come this way? What if they planned to use the safe house? What if those idiots led that throng of wizards straight to her?

Without realizing it, he was wringing his hands as he stared fixedly at the ground. He _did_ notice that his body felt drawn toward it, as if it wanted nothing more than to propel itself downward and toward the safe house as quickly as possible. His body felt the sense of urgency, practically vibrating from it, and the sharp bark of the tree bit harshly into his tense muscles.

It was a strange feeling, something he'd never experienced before, not even when unleashing the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, or even when meeting Voldemort for his punishment. In those times, fear had been the dominant presence, not this keenness for him to _do_ something.

It was made even more strange when his mind screamed his reluctance louder than any howler could possibly manage. The stark contrast between mind and body was a disorientating thing, and it only served to further separate the rift between the two, chaining Draco ever more tightly to indecision.

He was safe here. He could simply wait, and more than likely, Potter and his friends would be killed or captured by those men. Then, they would leave his forest. Sophie was probably waiting for him patiently and far out of harm's way. Why should he risk his life climbing back down and making his way _toward_ unknown wizards? Especially when he didn't even have a wand?

But then…

Draco closed his eyes tightly and took in a deep breath. After letting the air out slowly, allowing himself that much more time to change his mind, he severely shut off his thoughts and finally, succumbed to the actions that his body pushed him into.

Climbing back down the tree was far easier than climbing up, and he made quick work of introducing his feet to solid ground once again. Not giving himself even a second to catch his breath, Draco continued in the direction of the wizards' path of destruction, having no doubts that this was the correct way to the safe house.

The minutes passed by in a blur. All Draco could hear were his footsteps, crackling noisily on dead leaves, and he focused intensely on them. They were the sound of progress, the sound that reassured him that he was getting closer to Sophie. There was no reason to panic, and he wished that the dread that had taken root inside him would just kindly fuck off and stop distracting him.

He was so absorbed with placing one foot before the other that the sound of voices nearby gave him a violent start. Catching himself from falling, Draco held his breath and looked forward, easing himself behind a trunk as his eyes made out two figures hunched against a tree about ten yards away.

"- be able to get away with it," one of the figures was saying. The man was clearly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I think it'll be smarter to just divide the galleons evenly among all of us."

His partner gifted him with a particularly hard blow to the head. "And get what? Two galleons? If you think the snakey bastard will play it fair, you're more of an idiot than I believed."

"I'm just saying that these men are probably stronger than us. We can't kill them. Maybe if we tell the Potter kid that we're on his side…"

"You think schoolchildren know how to kill?"

"Incapacitate them, whatever, you wanker. Them three and us two can get rid of the others, and then we turn Potter in and collect our money."

The other man snorted and shrugged. "Whatever you want, as long as I _do _get my money. We're already cheated from the money for busting their new headquarters, and if I don't get paid soon, I'll get kicked out of my flat."

"Then we should go find them."

Draco stared incredulously as the two men walked away from him, already understanding – for the most part, anyway – the current situation.

If these men answered to the "snakey bastard," Draco would no doubt have to avoid them. However, how would he avoid them if he didn't know where they were?

Draco uneasily looked around him, and biting his lip, he made his way forward as quietly as he could. Instead of walking with a one-track mind of reaching Sophie as soon as possible, he was now more cautious, taking pains to nudge leaves aside with the toe of his boots before placing his foot down on the forest floor. He hadn't had to move stealthily in months, and his muscles already strained from his efforts to not make a sound.

It was slow going, but he eventually arrived at a copse of familiar knobby, half-dead trees that he knew wasn't too far from the shack. Although relieved that he hadn't seen any signs of the strangers nor Potter and his friends so far, Draco worried that this meant they were closer to Sophie.

He continued forward, hand clenched around an imaginary wand and eyes flickering from shadow to shadow. Very much on alert, he heard the commotion ahead before he actually saw anything, and he took care to decrease their distance with not even a snap of a twig to announce his presence.

Hiding beneath a branch still stubbornly holding on to its leaves, Draco peered at the little clearing that currently hosted a group of men surrounding – Draco sighed inwardly – a ferociously spitting Ron Weasley. The lights from several _lumos_ spells lit the area clearly and further darkened the shadows that hid Draco.

"They're not coming for me, you bloody pillocks! Just take me and go!" Weasley was shouting, straining violently against someone's _incarcerous_.

The group laughed uproariously, and Weasley's face turned an alarming shade of red. There were four in the group, Draco counted, but he noticed that none had the shapes of the two men he saw earlier. So there were at least six interlopers in his forest, then. Not counting the Golden Trio, of course.

"You ain't worth a hair on my bollocks, kid," a wizard jeered as he prodded Weasley with his shoe. "The real money is in the kid with the glasses and the stupid sodding scar, and we'll wait for him all night if we have to."

Draco tuned out the rest of the groups taunts and looked at the Weasley struggling on the ground with a strange mixture of pity and reluctance.

Why reluctance?

Draco had no fucking idea, and he didn't intend to linger to sort himself out.

Easing himself back out of the clearing, he decided to take a more roundabout way to the shack, hoping fervently that he would not run into anymore surprises on the way back.

But, of course, the universe held some sort of grudge against him, because not even five minutes later, he heard a whimpering sound above him. Draco froze and tilted his head, listening closely. A second later, he heard it again: a whimpering and harsh breathing.

Slowly, he looked up, bracing himself for what he might see, and was rewarded with the sight of Granger slumped precariously on a tree branch, not quite successful at hiding herself from view. Draco blinked up at her, wondering if she saw him, and wondering if he should make his presence known if she did not.

_Not any of your damn business_, Draco told himself firmly. He squinted at the huddled figure made distinguishable by that ridiculous hair, and he shook his head slowly. The sounds the girl was making hinted that she was hurt, but Draco shouldn't – _couldn't_ – be bothered. There was someone else who needed him. Someone more defenseless and less annoying.

But he wavered, and the step he took toward Sophie was careless and smashed several leaves as his foot made contact with the ground. Immediately, the whimpering cut off, and Draco gritted his teeth.

Draco heard the sharp intake of breath, and he heard Granger shift on the branch as if to get a clearer look. He swallowed and was about to move forward when his whispered name made him freeze once again.

"Malfoy? That's you, isn't it?"

Her whisper cut through the air as loudly as a rush of wind, making him cringe. He debated whether he should run, but for some reason, his feet made his decision for him by staying rooted to the spot.

"You're not with them, are you?" Granger asked, her shaking breath interrupting her question several times.

Draco didn't know why he did it, but he shook his head. He really should get going. He needed to check on Sophie.

"Malfoy…" her pained breathing was too loud. "My wand…I dropped it while I was climbing. Can you throw it up to me?"

Draco automatically looked down. His eyes swept the grass, but it was difficult to see anything in the darkness.

But a wand…he could find it. He could keep it. He could use magic again.

The desire washed through his body with an intensity he hadn't felt in a long time. He could do _magic_ again!

Draco began his search with vigor, straining his eyes to pick out the wand among the grass and leaves.

"Never thought," Granger's whisper floated down to him. He heard her laugh quietly. "Never thought I'd see you here, of all places. Ron told us what you did."

Draco paused at that, but continued his search with pursed lips. He wished the mudblood would shut up.

"It should be right below me," Granger pointed out helpfully, and right when she said that, Draco found it.

His hand grasped the polished wood like a parched man grabbed for water, and it took considerable effort to contain the happiness bubbling inside. The time for celebration was later, however, as he knew he had to get away from here as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of looking up, and his gaze connected with Granger's as she looked down at him.

The look in her eyes – hopeful, grateful – stopped him from immediately taking off. Draco struggled with himself for a few seconds, and finally opened his mouth to tell her – when a bright light coming from his left got his attention.

He noticed it too late, and the spell hit him in his middle and spread quickly all over his body, petrifying him so that he could do nothing but blink. The Body-Bind Curse. A dozen strings of expletives burst in Draco's mind.

"Hermione," a new voice entered the vicinity and Draco had no trouble guessing who the voice belonged to. "Hermione, you okay?"

Draco turned his eyeballs to the left and caught the eyes of the boy wonder and Wizarding world's only hope, Harry Potter himself.


	15. Part II: Chapter 15

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Summary**: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

**Warnings: **Language

**Chapter 15**

"What is _Malfoy_ doing here?"

The incredulity in Potter's voice would've been more amusing if Draco wasn't frozen helpless on the forest floor. The prickles of dead leaves and stubborn blades of grass brushed infuriatingly against his skin, and the itchiness was made only more uncomfortable by his inability to do anything about it.

"Harry! Malfoy's not with them! Remove the spell!" Granger's whispered demand carried far in the night. "And catch me."

Without any further warning, the girl dropped from the branch, and only a soft thump and Potter's muffled cursing told Draco that she hadn't hit the ground.

"Shit, what's wrong with your arm?" Potter exclaimed a moment later.

"Broken, I think. I need my wand to reset it."

Draco watched as Granger moved toward him, his heart sinking with her every closer step. When she removed her wand gently from his grasp, the familiar empty feeling made itself home inside him. Repeatedly denied access to his magic when he was forced to play the Death Eaters' games, he should be used to this by now. However, Draco never could feel completely whole if he didn't have a wand.

"There," she murmured as she waved her wand easily to end Potter's spell.

Potter stalked the few steps to her side, and Draco was hyperaware of his wary gaze as he slowly picked himself off the ground.

"You're sure he's not working for them?" Potter asked. Granger was too busy casting spells at her arm to notice the two boys staring tensely at each other.

"I wouldn't worry too much about me, Potter," Draco said when Granger didn't offer an answer. He felt unkempt and rough in the too-large robes he found in the safe house, and it irked him for the Gryffindors to see him like this. "You'd do better to worry about the Weasel back there."

This time, Granger's interest was caught, and her face whipped around instantly to stare at him. "You saw him?" she asked, her fixed arm now hanging normally at her side.

Draco stared at it for awhile, wondering if it were normal for people his own age to be so adept at advanced healing spells. "Yes. They mean to use him as bait for Scarhead." Draco answered.

"Damn it," Potter swore while Granger heaved a great sigh.

While they were distracted, Draco thought he should head back to Sophie; however, Granger offered him a shaky smile. "Thanks for telling us," she said. "And for finding my wand."

Draco only nodded, unable to say anything under Potter's suspicious glare.

"Where are you headed, Malfoy?" Potter asked. When Granger elbowed him, Potter shrugged. "Seems strange that a Death Eater is roaming around not two kilometers from Headquarters."

Granger shook her head. "We don't have time for this. What should we do about Ron?" The girl bit her lip and looked to Draco, her mouth setting into a grim line. "You've done a lot for him already, Malfoy, but will you take us to him? Navigation charms and _Point Me_ doesn't work this close to Headquarters. We're not familiar with this place, and I'd rather not get lost…" Her voice trailed off when she saw Draco's frown.

"What other healing spells do you know?" he asked abruptly.

Granger's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Hmm?"

Draco scowled. "Healing spells," he repeated.

Granger blinked at him, apparently waiting for a better explanation. When Draco didn't bother, she gestured toward the small bag hanging from her shoulder. "I have some potions and a book that's useful. Why? Is Ron injured?"

"Don't know," Draco answered shortly. "But I am, and I'll take you to him after you heal me." The words grated on him as they left his mouth, loathe to ask a mudblood for help, but Draco knew that continuing to ignore his condition was foolish.

Two pairs of widened eyes stared back at him, glittering slightly under the starlight, making Draco scowl again. "Well?"

Granger nodded quickly. "Yes, alright." Potter opened his mouth to cut in, but she elbowed him once more sharply. "How can I help?"

Potter opened his mouth again. "Not now, Hermione. We'll help Ron first, and then see what Malfoy needs."

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes as the feeling of déjà vu swept through him. He had helped that Weasley twin before getting his end of the bargain and was ripped off for it. If he were to learn from his mistakes, he should insist on getting what he wanted first.

"But if he's hurt, he should be healed!" Granger's voice was firm, causing Draco to raise an eyebrow. So Potter's sidekicks didn't quite follow his every word without a thought, and Draco marked this as yet another difference in his mental list comparing them and Vince and Greg.

Potter frowned. "We've been sitting ducks this entire time! We can't just stay in the open and pamper Malfoy when we're being hunted!"

Granger tilted up her nose and gave him a superior look. "Then keep watch. The faster we help him, the faster we can get to Ron."

Potter's valiant effort of keeping his eyes from rolling amused Draco despite the situation. He quickly scanned their surroundings for any signs of their pursuers. When his eyes picked up a soft glow a distance away, he grimaced. Cursing in his head, he shook his head at Granger. "Nevermind," he said quietly. He began to move away from the others. "No deal. I'm leaving."

Puzzled, Granger took a step forward as if to stop him, but Potter blocked her. He was looking where Draco had seen the light. "That's a _lumos_," he said quietly. "We have to move."

Granger looked reluctant but nodded decisively. She grabbed Potter's hand and made her way straight, at an angle that would take her away from the safe house. Breathing out a small sigh of relief, he was about to head the other direction when the girl's hand clamped tightly around his forearm. "Come on," she hissed. "I'll help you when we're in the clear."

Draco frowned and dug his heels deep into the ground. "The deal's off, Granger."

Potter tsked, joining his strength to yank Draco forward. "Too bad, Malfoy. Hermione's set on helping you, and we'll only get caught if you try to argue with her."

Gritting his teeth, Draco allowed himself to be pulled along, and he glanced back somewhat nervously. The light of their pursuers' spell wandered aimlessly between trees as they searched for them, but Draco was under the belief that if he could see their spells, they were much too close for comfort. Finally, he gave in, quickening his steps despite his pain pulling him back.

"What should we do about Ron?" Potter puffed out between breaths. "Even if we outrun them, we can't leave him behind."

_Why the hell not?_ Draco thought grumpily. Looking back once again, he could no longer see their _lumos_, but this only made him more anxious. If their enemies caught up, Draco would be the first to fall, he knew.

Granger tightened her grip and released them suddenly. "No," she whispered. "Now's our chance. Do you trust me?"

The question caught Draco off guard, forcing his attention away from their flanks to focus on the witch beside him. Her determined gaze switched between him and Potter at alarming speed, and her lips were set into a thin line.

"What are you planning, Hermione?" Potter asked.

She stopped, so Potter stopped, and against his instincts, Draco stopped too.

Granger flicked her wand in a complicated movement, muttering an incantation too low and too fast for Draco to understand. The spell that shot out of her wand was a muted gray light, ejecting itself to the sky and dissipating. Draco stared dumbly at where it fizzled out.

"Very useful, Granger," he muttered. However, when he saw Potter grin, he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Nice," Potter said, slapping Granger encouragingly on her shoulder. Then, he frowned. "Surely we can't stay and ambush them, though. There are too many of them."

The witch shook her head. "No. We have to keep moving." She shot Draco a meaningful glance. "Towards Ron."

"Huh?" Draco's voice came out flat.

Potter pushed him aside. "You think you can keep it up?"

"The ward is only six meters in diameter. When we move to the edge, I'll have to cast the spell again."

"Recasting?" Potter looked worried. "The spell is a powerful spell, Hermione. You can't—"

"I _can_," Granger interrupted him. She turned to Draco imploringly. "I'm really sorry, Malfoy, but we'll have to wait until we're safe until I can help you. I've just set up a ward around us. They won't be able to detect us while we're under it, and I'll have to keep recasting it when we reach its border. This spell is demanding," she grimaced. "But it outsmarts detection charms that render disillusioning useless."

Draco looked doubtfully around them. "I don't see any difference."

Granger's smile was wide. "This is where you have to trust me, Malfoy."

O_O

Nerves shot, Draco led the two Gryffindors back to where he had last seen Weasley. He could hear their pursuers easily now and could even see them when they came too close. They were in a pack, wearing shabby clothing and appearing grimy and unwashed. Their eyes were bright in the forest, searching among the shadows under trees. However, they could not see him, nor hear him, so Draco supposed Granger's ward was working.

He glanced back at the witch, noting that her breaths were getting more labored with every casting. For some reason, he felt the need to murmur, "Almost there."

Granger grinned at him and nodded. Potter gripped his wand tightly. "Alright," he whispered.

When they stepped through a particularly dense barrier of black poplars, Draco sighed out a breath of relief. In front of them, bound and still spitting with rage, was Weasley, looking a little worse for wear but not seriously injured.

The older wizard standing guard beside him only looked at the struggling teenager in amusement. He didn't bother to return Weasley's insults, which were fast becoming increasingly creative and inappropriate.

A quick movement caught Draco's eye, and Potter's whispered "_Stupefy_!" hit Weasley's guard at the back of his head. Almost immediately, his _incarcerous_ bound the wizard tightly into an uncomfortable position. Draco kept his face emotionless, refusing to let it show that he was a little impressed by the quickness of Potter's spellwork.

Meanwhile, Weasley's face was a sight to behold, and Draco heard Granger giggling behind him. The dumb bewilderment on his face was only accentuated by the redness of his skin as he struggled within the ropes binding him. Potter stepped up and with a lazy swish of his wand, spelled the ropes away. Freed, Weasley jumped up, looking around himself.

"Harry? Hermione?" he called out.

The Gryffindors walked the few steps to be clear of Granger's ward. When Weasley caught sight of them, his face split into a huge grin. Potter's answering grin was wry. "Announce to the world we're here, why don't you?" he greeted his friend, keeping his voice low.

Impossibly, Weasley's face reddened further in embarrassment. "They're looking for you," he whispered. Narrowing his eyes, he looked around again. "Dunno when they're coming back." Granger stepped up and threw her arms around his neck.

"You idiot," she murmured. "Get yourself caught _again_, I'll have to kill you."

Alarmingly, Weasley blushed, and his skin was almost the same shade as his hair. He returned her embrace quickly, but gestured with his hand at the forest around them. "We have to leave now," he said as he bent down and stuck his hand within the folds of his guard's cloak. His face brightened as he pulled out his wand from an inside pocket.

Granger nodded. She looked back to where Draco was still standing beneath her ward. Her eyes traveled blindly, looking at a spot a couple feet to his right.

"Malfoy, come on."

"What!" Weasley yelped. "Did I hear you right? _Malfoy_?"

Looking uncertainly around for their enemies and finding none – except for the still unconscious wizard on the ground – Draco stepped outside of the ward. He didn't offer the redhead a smile.

Weasley, however, surprised him when his bewildered face morphed into an expression of relief. "I _knew_ you were alright!" he exclaimed as Hermione tutted at his loud voice and quickly recast the ward around the small group. "When we didn't hear any news of you returning with the Death Eaters, I figured you made it away from them. George has been going mental looking for the Secret Keeper of your safe house. Please tell me Sophie's okay."

Draco blinked, still too shocked to come up with an appropriate answer. He settled for nodding curtly instead.

"Oh, thank Merlin," sighed Weasley. His relief caused him to slouch, but suddenly, he perked back up. "How crazy is it to be seeing you here!"

Potter rolled his eyes and tugged impatiently at Weasley's sleeve. "Let's continue your reunion later, alright? We still have Snatchers looking for us."

Granger nodded in agreement, immediately latching herself to the redhead's side. "We can keep moving until we clear the anti-apparition barrier. Then, we can apparate to Fred and George's place. We won't be able to stay long, but it'll be enough until we figure out our next move."

A sudden panic rose within Draco, and he shook his head. "No, Granger," he said. "I can't go with you. I need to get back to Sophie."

Weasley startled. "Sophie's _here_?"

"At the safe house nearby," Draco answered.

"A safe house!" Potter parroted, suddenly excited. "Order safe houses are hidden under _fidelius_ charms. It'll be better for us to go there and not place Fred and George in danger."

A bad feeling rose up in Draco as he realized the group wanted to invade his safe house, bringing their danger into the haven in which he kept Sophie safe. His reluctance was probably evident on his face, because Granger smiled at him reassuringly. "There's a different Secret Keeper for every safe house, and the identities of each are known by only a random few. Even if we enter, no one else will be able to follow, especially not Snatchers or Death Eaters."

"Save your lectures, Granger," Draco muttered. He sighed and made a quick decision. "You still need to fulfill your end of the bargain, and the best place for that is in the safe house. It belongs to your Order of the Phoenix, anyways." Not waiting for them to reply, he turned toward the unconscious wizard, bending down somewhat awkwardly to avoid aggravating his wound. His fingers curved around the nine inch piece of ash in the wizard's hand and pulled it free. The Gryffindors watched silently as he gave an experimental swish with the wand. When a pathetically small poof of red puffed from the tip, Draco frowned.

"Not a good match, is it?" Potter mused. He shrugged. "It's better than nothing. Lead the way, Malfoy."

It _wasn't_ a good match, but it _was_ better than nothing. Feeling a small spark of happiness and the sense that an empty spot had finally been filled, Draco led the three Gyffindors out of the clearing.

He could _finally_ do magic again.

O_O

**AN:** This chapter is more of a set-up for the next chapter, so I'm sorry it's a bit shorter than normal!


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